Receive Me Brother
by jojospn
Summary: Pre series AU. Sam thinks he has it all. He's excelling in pre-law, is in love with the woman of his dreams, and estranged brother Dean has suddenly quit the Winchester family business. But Sam's hopes of normalcy are once again shattered when Dean reveals true reason behind his sudden return.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Well, it's time to try the multi chapter fics again! After reading a fair amount of them on this site, I've decided to try my own hand at a cancer fic, this time, involving Dean. I have enjoyed the ones I've read so far and wanted to try one of my own as a challenge. Pre-series AU. Enjoy! And as always, I don't own **_**Supernatural.**_

**One**

Sam Winchester had never considered that one day he would be domesticated.

Throughout his childhood, Sam had endured the total opposite of what one would consider a normal childhood. Family cookouts in the backyard, Thanksgivings watching the Macy's parade after digesting massive turkey dinners, even tuck-ins and lullabys provided by the gentleness of his mother... all were the usual childhood memories that most take for granted. Instead, Christmases were spent in sketchy motel rooms with beer can wreaths and buckets of KFC; weekends and summer vacations were spent with weapons training, physical exercise, and what seemed like endless hours of paraphrasing and translating verses of Latin. Even "geek boy" (as Dean had so affectionately labelled him) Sam Winchester had hated the countless hours pouring over volume after volume of spells and exorcisms (though, of course, he could expel a demon without even glancing at ancient texts). Not even the one summer he had played soccer could possibly count as normalcy.

Domesticity was something Sam had always wanted, and never dreamed would actually happen. And yet, here he was, settled comfortably on his bed, snuggling with the woman of his dreams, munching popcorn and watching cheesy low budget horror films. He had known almost from day one that Jessica Moore was the one for him. Beautiful, charming, a great sense of humour and a heart of gold, Jess had stolen his heart just weeks after first being introduced to her by mutual friends. Less than six months later, the pair were sharing a dorm, and thus Sam Winchester at last found himself enjoying the sometimes bitter, but mostly sweet taste of normalcy.

Domesticity was knowing that an entire summer stretched before him, free of not only the challenges of a pre-law student, but of the prospect of moving to another town, settling down long enough to pack again and move on to the next city. It was Saturday nights on the town (well, occasionally) followed by lazy Sunday afternoons, making love until dusk. Sam even relished the mundane. Cooking, cleaning, writing term papers without having to listen to his father bitch him out for ignoring the hunting lore. Every minute of every day, as saccharine as it may seem, was heavenly to the young man.

That would all change with a simple phone call.

XXX

At first, he almost missed the phone call.

The device, set to vibrate, had been ringing for nearly a minute before Jess finally sat up, brushing a stand of blonde hair from her eyes. "Sam, you should probably get that."

"And miss all the fun?" Sam laughed, gesturing as Jason Voorhees stabbed his latest victim with a pitchfork. Jessica smirked and playfully smacked her boyfriend on the shoulder. "You're an idiot, Sam Winchester, you know that?"

_Learned that from my pain in the ass brother._ The words had almost slipped out, but Sam managed to hold them back. He didn't want to think of Dean. The brothers hadn't exactly left on the best of terms two years earlier. Determined to attend college regardless of the Winchester Family Business, Sam had left Dean and his father with very little notice, and not much of a good bye. John Winchester had been livid, warning his son that should he choose the life of an undergraduate over that of the hunter, he should never come back. _With pleasure, _he that thought. Until looking into his brother's eyes, torn between anger and betrayal, sadness, and what Sam hoped was pride. The minute hazel locked with jade, Sam nearly dropped his duffel, and his dreams, right then and there. And he would have, if Dean had just said _something._ Instead, his older brother had remained silent, and ultimately Sam had turned and walked away. He hadn't seen or talked to Dean since.

Sam's thoughts were interrupted by the continued buzzing and vibration of his cell. No longer joking, Jess arched an eyebrow at him, and reluctantly the young man picked it up. The name flashing on the caller ID surprised him.

"Dean?"

"Sammy?" The voice on the other end of the line sounded almost hesitant. Knowing his brother, Dean had probably attempted to make the call several times earlier, only to chicken out and disconnect. Sam knew this for a fact: he'd done this himself on more than one occasion since his enrolment at Stanford a little under three years earlier. Never had Sam had the courage to follow through with the phone call. What if Dean were still pissed at him? Or worse still, what if he were severely hurt, or dead? He would never be able to live with himself if his brother had died due to his failure to be there as backup (both literally and metaphorically). But, deep down, Sam was also afraid that he would still be too angry to talk to him. Dean was supposed to support his dreams, be his biggest cheerleader. And his silence that night spoke to Sam, loud and clear. He was siding with his father over him.

And yet, Dean had called him. No doubt harbouring the exact fears he was experiencing, and yet he had finally had the courage to dial. Which could only mean one thing.

Something was wrong.

"Dean, is everything ok?" Beside him on the bed, Jessica gave Sam a look of surprise before quietly slipping from beneath the covers and leaving the bedroom to give him some privacy. Sam had told him very little of his estranged older brother, and she was dying of curiosity, but she respected her boyfriend far too much to intervene. Sam gave her a grateful nod, reaching for the remote, the film forgotten.

"Yeah, we're cool." Dean's voice on the other end of the line seemed force, and immediately the little brother radar the elder sibling had no idea even existed suddenly kicked in. But Sam knew better than to push too hard. A little nudge and Dean could be talking; a shove and you were back to square one.

"You still in Cali, right?" Was that a hopeful lilt in Dean's voice? Nah, probably just wishful thinking.

"Yeah, figured I'd stay here for the summer, get a job or something. Why, man?" Trying not to sound too hopeful. Despite their lack of communication, Sam had missed his older brother. A lot. Hell, if he were to admit it, he had missed Dean the first hour after leaving that night. But then, that small thrill of excitement died almost immediately. Why would Dean want to crash here? Unless something was wrong. Was Dad ok? Sure, he was pissed at his father. Royally. But regardless John Winchester was his father. And if something were to happen to him...

"Sammy? You still there? Sam!" The younger Winchester blinked, realizing that he had been spacing out a little. "Yeah, yeah, I'm still here. Was just thinking."

"Yeah, well don't strain your noggin too much there, bro." Ok, if Dean were joking around, things couldn't be _that_ bad. Could they?

"Bite me," Sam muttered, and Dean genuinely laughed for the first time during their conversation. Sam couldn't help but smile. Dean's laugh was infectious, almost as much as his goofy grin or over exaggerated winks. And they were very rare. Sam could count on both hands the number of times his older brother had laughed like in all his twenty years. It comforted him to hear it; it was a sign that perhaps everything would be fine after all.

"But seriously, Sam.," Dean continued after the laughter had died down. "I'm in the area, thought I'd drop by and see my geeky kid brother. Since you don't have exams or any of that studying stuff to worry about now."

Once again warning bells began to go off in Sam's gargantuan mind. "Since when did you just want to 'drop by' Dean? Aren't you and Dad..." he paused, checking to make sure Jessica was out of earshot before continuing, "don't you guys still hunt?"

"Geez, Sammy, why can't I drop by and give my nerdy kid brother a visit? Isn't that what brothers do and all that shit?"

_Not in this family._ "You're not exactly the visiting type."

"Well, maybe I kinda wanted to see my kid brother sometime in the next century. Now you didn't really answer my question, bro. You staying at Stanford or not?"

"No, Dean. I'm staying here..."

"Great! I'll be there in twenty."

"...but..." Sam's words were cut off as line went dead. Great. As much as he was glad to finally see Dean, he had not had the chance to explain that he wasn't exactly a bachelor. Sam shuddered at the though of his older brother hitting on his girlfriend. And how would Jessica react? He had told her in passing that he had a brother, and that they hadn't parted exactly on friendly terms. How would she react to suddenly find said sibling practically invading their home? Sam sighed, setting the phone back on the nightstand. Jess was great, would probably understand but still... Feeling a slight headache coming on, the young man quickly dressed, turning off the TV and heading into the kitchen.

"Hey, Jess? How do you feel about late night house guests?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you all for your response to this first chapter! I really appreciate the support! Thank you SuperVikinggirl, mb64, OldNarnian, flygirl33, BranchSuper, LilyBolt, and a guest for your recent reviews. And thanks all to those who have added this to their favourites, followed (wow, seventeen follows after one chapter!) and have just decided to read. Your support is greatly appreciated! And as always, I don't own **_**Supernatural.**_** Just borrowing the boys.**

**Two**

There were so many reasons why Sam adored Jessica Moore. She was smart, could ace exams with very little study and write amazing term papers the night before if she truly wanted to (not that she had ever put herself in that situation, of course); she was compassionate, always ready with a helping hand, a warm smile, and a shoulder to cry on if need be. And yet she didn't put up with anyone's bullshit, especially regarding Sam's occasional bouts of self pity. But most of all, Jessica Moore was very patient. To an extent that Sam had not even truly understood until that late June night when her boyfriend's estranged brother suddenly decided to drop by, practically unannounced, at nearly one in the morning.

Sam loved Jessica even more for that one.

By the time the Impala's engine stilled on the street outside and the driver's door closed shut with a bang, Sam had managed to calm somewhat. Between the eagerness to see Dean again and the anxiety that something must be terribly wrong to bring him to his own apartment at _one in the goddamned morning_, Sam had believed he would be a wreck by the time his brother finally pulled up. But, to his surprise, the young man felt relatively calm, sipping on the chamomile tea Jess had prepared for him, while the coffee Dean would definitely prefer was peculating on the counter. The young woman, unlike her boyfriend, was rather nervous to meeting Sam's brother for the first time; and, if she were to be honest with herself, was rather pissed as well. From what little info Sam had provided during their relationship, Jess had concluded that Dean, the one who was supposed to have supported his brother in his academic achievements, had been angry, bitter. And had been too stubborn to just pick up the phone and call. Granted, Sam had been equally so in that regard, and she had told him as much on more than one occasion, but still...

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a faint knocking at the door. Immediately Sam sprang from the kitchen table and rushed to answer, almost knocking over his tea. Curious to witness this unplanned family reunion, Jess followed Sam, her own mug in hand. This was something she didn't want to miss for the world.

There, standing in the hallway of the dorm, was a handsome man in his early to mid twenties, over dressed for the late June California heat in faded jeans, a t shirt under a flannel button down, and a worn leather jacket. He was shorter than his younger brother, with spiked, sandy hair and a cocky smile on a face that even Jess noticed was rather pale. "Heya, Sammy," Dean Winchester grinned, patting his kid brother affectionately on the shoulder before inviting himself into the apartment. Immediately his eyes met Jessica's, and damned if the guy didn't grin even wider. "Why, Sammy, who's this lovely young lady?" He glanced at the faded Smurfs t-shirt that she had worn to bed, and winked. "I love the Smurfs."

"Uh, nice to meet you, too." But at the warm smile that Dean flashed her, the one that seemed genuine, Jessica felt herself relaxing. Ok, so the guy was a bit of a playboy. No doubt he'd slept with many a young woman in his twenty-something years. But there was something in those eyes (which Jess learned were a beautiful green, hints which could be found in Sam's own hazel) that didn't seem very threatening. Or was it the fact that, despite his jovial attitude, there was something about this young man which didn't seem well? As if he were, well, if she were to be honest, rather _sick._ But if Sam had thought so, he most certainly wasn't mentioning it, and so she decided to let the matter slide. For now.

"What are you doing here, man?" Sam asked, closing the door behind him and watching as Dean dropped his duffel, kicked off his shoes... all in all, just made himself at home as easily as if this were any of the old, scuzzy motels the brothers had frequented in days gone by, and not Sam's very own apartment. Jessica handed him a steaming mug of coffee, offered cream and sugar ("no thanks, black's fine") and Sam settled on the chair across from his brother, suddenly feeling rather awkward. He hadn't seen Dean in almost three years, and for the first time since before he had left, he felt like he couldn't think of anything to say to his brother. The awkward silence was heartbreaking. Fortunately, Dean finally broke the silence by answering his brother's question.

"Like I said over the phone, was in the area and wanted to stop by. Didn't know you had company though."

"You didn't exactly give me the chance to tell you, Dean."

"No, guess I didn't," Dean chuckled, sipping on his mug and secretly wishing it were a beer. "I'm Dean, by the way, in case you didn't get that."

Jess smiled faintly. "Yeah, I figured that one out, thanks."

"Dean, this is Jess." Sam felt his skin redden at the rather embarrassing conversation. This was definitely not how he had envisioned introducing her to his family. Not like that was ever really going to happen. Jessica smiled, waved, and settled on the sofa, carefully distancing herself from the stranger on the other side. The awkward introductions over, Sam finally found he had the ability to speak with his older brother.

"So, be honest, Dean. Why are you here? Is Dad ok?"

"Dad's fine. He's on a hunting trip. Backwoods in Maine."

"And you didn't go with him?" Sam asked, incredulous. Since when did Dean opt out of a case? Unless John Winchester had specifically told him to back off. Was it something about that thing who had killed his mother? Maybe.

Dean finally began to look frustrated, rubbing his suddenly throbbing temple with his left hand. He _really _wanted that beer now. "Look, man, I just got in, I'm beat, been driving hours steady. Can't I just relax for a few godda-" He paused, glancing apologetically at Jess, who shrugged her shoulders in an "I don't care, curse all you want" gesture, and went on. "Can it at least wait until morning? I'm exhausted." It was then that Sam finally noticed just how crappy his brother looked. For a guy who loved his greasy food, he looked thin, and unusually tired (even for a guy who was used to driving for hours on end). And he would occasionally wince in pain, tending to favour his right side. But in all likelihood, it was just a hunt gone wrong. Dean was in the area, and wanted to take advantage of Sam's home to recoup. Not that Sam minded. He knew the dangers of the job very well, and was more than willing to allow him to stay a night or two, or even a few weeks. Anything to keep his injured brother from going on the hunt too soon and risking... no, Sam didn't even want to consider the alternative.

"Yeah, sure. We don't have a spare room but the couch is a sofa bed and we brought some fresh sheets." Dean grinned, grateful that Sam was (at least, temporarily) derailed from what he was certain would come up eventually. He knew that he would have to tell his kid brother the truth eventually. That he was dying, that in all likelihood he would be checking into a nearby motel and not ever checking out. But for the moment, all Dean Winchester wanted was a hot shower and his bed. Taking the hint, Jess got up, yawning. "Can you get Sam set up, hun? I was up early for my soc final and I could really use some sleep." _And those two need some time alone,_ she thought, kissing her boyfriend gently on the lips and smiling at the young man who was now slowly rising from the couch. "It was nice meeting you, Dean."

Five minutes later, the brothers were alone, working together at folding open the couch and setting up Dean's bed. The worked in silence, Sam subtly glancing at his brother. He knew that _something_ was off. But he just couldn't quite place it. Any hunting injury, he would be able to identify without a problem, and treat it accordingly. Not this. But there was no way Dean was talking, at least not tonight. But damn, this silence was unbearable.

"Hey, man, wanna beer or something?"

"Nah, just gonna shower and hit the hay."

Sam arched an eyebrow. Dean turn down beer? What the...? Again alarm bells began going off in Sam's head, but for the life of him, he couldn't understand why. So instead, he led his brother to the bathroom, sat in the kitchen, sipping his own bottle of Millers. And when it looked like Dean wasn't going to be talking much more that night, he finally climbed into bed beside his girlfriend. Something was going on, and Sam Winchester was determined to find out what.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Huge thank you to mb64, OldNarnian, BranchSuper, lilliannaelizabeth, LilyBolt, flygirl33, moonlightinparadise, and Spnfan for your recent reviews. And thank you so much for the support this story has received. It's been overwhelming! I'll try to keep this updated as quickly as possible! And sadly, I don't own **_**Supernatural**_** but sometimes I wish I did. ;)**

**Three**

Sam didn't sleep well that night. He lay awake beside Jess for several seemingly unending hours before finally succumbing to exhaustion around four that morning. And by six, he was wide awake, staring blankly at the ceiling while Jess slept peacefully beside him. At first, he tried to relax, willing himself to at least squeeze in another hour or so before his girlfriend would rise for the day. But by six-thirty, after a half hour of staring above, watching as the darkened bedroom began to gradually lighten, Sam finally gave up, tossing aside his blankets in frustration and heading to the kitchen for some much needed coffee. He couldn't get the image of his brother out of his head: tired, rather thin... almost, if he were to admit it to himself, rather _sickly._ But that wasn't possible. Dean Winchester never got sick. Sure, there had been the typical colds and flus that all kids develop. At seven he'd had a fairly serious case of chicken pox, the only part of the illness Sam remembered being the fact that Dad had tried his damndest to keep the little boy, who just couldn't understand why he was suddenly not allowed to be with Dean, away. The one time his tough as nails older brother had been seriously ill had been when Dean was fifteen. He'd developed a serious case of appendicitis, the organ rupturing and its release of toxins resulting in a rather severe case of pneumonia.

But otherwise, Dean Winchester was a healthy young man. If one counted guzzling beer and bacon cheeseburgers practically non-stop healthy.

Sam sighed, making his way through the darkness so as not to disturb his sleeping brother. The man normally could sleep through almost anything. He remembered the nights he had slept through the fiercest of thunderstorms, waking only when a frightened Sam climbed into bed next to him, seeking comfort. But considering how, well, shitty, his brother looked, the younger Winchester wasn't about to take any chances. Moments later, he finally reached the kitchen, snapped on the light.

Only to find Dean already at the table, alone in the darkness. Startled by the sudden flood of light, the young man jumped, immediately followed by a glare. "Jesus, Sammy, you startled me!"

Sam stared at Dean, also shaken by the sudden image of his brother sitting at the faded, wooden table. "Yeah, well, a guy doesn't always expect to see his estranged brother sitting randomly in his kitchen." Dean cringed, no doubt affected by the word _estranged_, but quickly regained his composure before his little brother could even notice. "Couldn't sleep," he muttered, running a hand across his tired face. "Didn't know where the remote was and thought I could get some coffee. Didn't really think that one through," he chuckled, and Sam smiled faintly at the joke. How could he expect to find the damn coffee maker in the dark?

"Here, I'll get some." Dean watched as Sam manoeuvred through the cramped space, pulling out a canister of Folgers and coffee filters and gently pouring generous spoonfuls of the grounds in the basket. The kid looked so damn domesticated, he thought. Here was Sam, his little brother, making coffee in his own apartment just like folks. No longer was his little brother a hunter, but just your everyday college student. Just what he had always wanted. Dean smiled faintly at that. God, it hurt him to know that in just a little while, that illusion would be shattered. That his little brother would no longer be living without a care in the world. That he would know that Dean was dying, and that there was not a damn thing he could do about it. He felt the familiar moisture threaten to overtake him and Dean quickly brushed the pooling tears aside with the back of his hand. Not now. There would no doubt be enough tears for the both of them (and mostly on Sam's part, of that he was certain) soon enough. Now he just needed to get through at least _one_ normal day with his kid brother.

But, of course, Dean knew his brother. That he would not leave well enough alone. He'd noticed how Sam had been scrutinizing him (what the kid no doubt thought was subtly, but Dean knew his sibling enough to know his every move). How he suspected that something was up, but just couldn't pinpoint what. It wouldn't be long before the questions started. The young man sighed, already beginning to feel the pressure of a headache from behind his eyes. Great. Just fucking peachy.

Sure enough, shortly after setting a steaming mug of coffee down before his brother, the interrogation began.

"Uh, Dean. You said that you'd be ready to talk in the morning..."

"Jesus, Sammy..."

"And last I checked, it's almost seven AM..."

"You're not gonna let this one go, are you, Sam?"

"No, I'm not!" Sam felt his voice rising, and he quickly calmed himself, lest he awaken Jessica with his sudden outburst. "What do you fucking expect, Dean? You suddenly show up out of nowhere at my apartment, you tell me Dad is on a hunting trip and you're not with him, or even _caring_ about not being there, you look like shit..." Sam paused, a little guilty at the look of what seemed like hurt on his brother's face, but nonetheless continuing. "And since when does Dean Winchester turn down a beer? Or not once suggest getting something to eat? Something's up man, and if you don't want to tell me, I'll research. You know I'll find out sooner or later, Dean. It's called the Internet," at Dean's rather sceptical look.

Dean sighed. He knew he'd have to fess up sooner or later. But damn, he had been hoping for the latter. For a moment, he looked at his untouched mug, stalling for a few minutes. But at the sound of Sam clearing his throat, he drew a deep breath. He continued to stare at the ceramic mug, unable to meet his brother in the eye. This was going to break his heart, and there was no way he was going to see that. The pain in those hazel eyes, the way his forehead would scrunch up as he withheld tears. The blinking as he struggled to control the overwhelming onslaught of emotions. And it would be Dean's fault.

"Dean."

"I have cancer, Sammy."

There. To the point. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. Dean closed his eyes, still not able to look at his younger brother. For a moment, Sam said nothing, as if he were mentally tallying up the symptoms and comparing them to what he had witnessed the night before. And Dean found the silence to be even more painful. "Say something," he finally said.

At first, Sam couldn't speak, the shock of it all overwhelming him. His brother, his indestructible older brother, had cancer? It was almost laughable. Hunters died all the time. It was part of the package, after all. But they died on the job, or from some sort of illness a vengeful spirit decided to leave behind before leaving the human realm forever. No. They didn't die of fucking _cancer_ of all things. Finally, after the silence was becoming unbearable even for him, Sam at last found he had the strength to talk.

"What kind? I mean, it's treatable, right? Some chemo, radiation, that kind of thing. It's nothing inoperable like a brain tumour, right?" Dean chuckled grimly, finally looking up at his brother. And not at all surprised to see the pain in his hazel eyes, the hurt he had been trying so damn hard to protect him from, from the moment he was in diapers. It was his job to protect him, physically as well as emotionally. And dropping a bombshell like this one was sure as hell not the way to go about that. Some job he' done at that. Dean pushed the mug aside, the usually appealing aroma of the coffee suddenly making him feel nauseous.

"Liver. Guess I drank a bit too much. That's what the doc thinks, anyway. Didn't think I was much of an alcoholic. Thought that whole 'body's a temple' stuff to be bullshit. Joke's on my, I guess..." he was rambling now, as if his chatter would somehow make everything ok, even f just for a minute. Across the table from him, Sam seemed to be listening, but his mind was going a mile a minute, spinning frantically like a possessed carousel. There were doctors to consult, appointments to be made. He had to know what treatments Dean had undergone, and what would work best for his body. He needed to know just how far along the cancer was. If he was only in stage I, things shouldn't be that bad. It was likely treatable and everything would be fine. He _was_ Dean fucking Winchester, his older brother, his hero. Stage II wasn't ideal, but could be treatable. Stage III or IV, he didn't even want to _think_ of that. God...

"How bad is it?" Surprised at how calm he sounded, and judging by the look of slight surprise on his brother's face, Dean was, too. The young man looked a little guilty, and Sam's heart immediately sunk. That wasn't a good sign.

"Do you really need to know that, Sammy? Got cancer, my own damn fault for getting it, end of story." There he was, stalling again. Goddamned stubborn older brothers.

"Dean. Tell me. Now." At the fierce tone in his brother's voice, Dean sighed, finally admitting defeat. The kid was gonna find out sooner or later.

"Early stage III. Doc says I have two tumours on my liver. Hasn't spread yet, and looks like they can operate. Scheduled for surgery in a few days. That don't work, I'm on a waiting list for a liver."

Jesus. Sam rubbed his forehead, overwhelmed. This couldn't be happening.

"Problem is..." Dean was sounding unbelievably guilty at the moment, staring down at his shaking hands folded on the table. "Well, I used all my fake insurance. Had to skip out on the last place 'cause they were getting close to busting me on it. And cancer drugs are fucking expensive, man. So..."

"You just wanna crash at my place and wait to die. That's it, isn't it Dean?" Sam felt his voice rising again, and this time, he didn't even bother to try to regulate it. "You wanna just _give up!? _What the fuck is wrong with you? I – I can't believe you think that _little _ of yourself! Jesus fucking Christ Dean!"

"It's better than the alternative."

"How? How could you dying possibly be better?"

"For one, it seems better than being ripped to shreds by a werewolf or whatever. I have time to say goodbye to you, to kinda make peace with going. Two, I get to spend my last days with you. Haven't seen you in fucking forever, and I get to enjoy that time without worrying about hunting or research or anything like that. Three, I would much rather die than make you have to pay for my medical bills. You worked hard to go to college, the last thing I'm gonna do is make you waste all that money you saved on me. I was able to get the surgery on my last card. If that doesn't work, I'm throwing in the towel, Got that?"

Sam stared at his brother, incredulous. He had expected most of what his brother had told him; that he didn't mind dying slowly, that it was a good way for him to come to terms with his disease, to be able to say his goodbyes. But he could not accept that his brother was willing to just die rather than accept help from his brother. It was admittedly a noble gesture. Sam had wanted to go to college since his freshman year in high school; had wanted to be a lawyer since he was sixteen. Dean didn't want his little brother to give that up, for him. But what Dean didn't know was that nothing, not even dreams of a law degree and corner office in some prestigious law firm, was more important to him than his brother. Dean would always be his priority. No questions asked.

"How could you?" Sam finally whispered, and those hazel eyes at last began to brim with tears. "How could you possibly think that school is more important to me than you? Who was it who practically starved himself to make sure I had enough to eat? Who raised me when our actual father wasn't around to do it? Who taught me to goddamn read, ride a bike, tie my fucking shoes? Dammit, Dean, you're my brother. And I'm not going to just sit here and let you die."

"But Sam..."

"No. You're staying here and we're going to help you. For once, Dean, please. Let me help you for a change." Sam paused, wiping his eyes and praying that his pain in the ass older brother would just listen for once. After a few minutes, Dean finally spoke up, his own eyes suspiciously wet. "But your school..."

"I'll finish it later. No law says I can't go back in a couple years. People do it all the time."

Dean sighed. He hated to admit defeat. And he sure as fuck hated that the kid was sacrificing his education for him. That wasn't a part of the plan. He was supposed to crash a few weeks, spend some time with his brother, and finally admit he was dying right before kicking the proverbial bucket. Got to spend some quality time with Sammy, and yet still avoid the major chick flick that was happening at the moment. He should have known that the kid would figure out that something was wrong, would pry it out of him. But now that the cat was out of the bag, Dean actually felt relieved. Maybe they could actually beat this after all. And a small, selfish part of him was glad that Sam was dropping out of college. He loved his brother (though he would never admit it), and was so damn proud of him, but he missed him. Missed the two of them, hanging out, riding for days on end in the Impala. And even though Jess would still be a part of Sam's life, it still was nice to think of the time the brothers would be spending together.

"Ok, Sammy, you win. But I swear to god, if you don't finish college I'll haunt your ass."

"Not funny."

"Well, it's kinda funny."

The two sat there in silence for a while, until Sam finally heard the stirring across the apartment, the hint that Jessica was up and getting ready for the day. The first day. He sighed, collecting the mugs and dumping Dean's untouched coffee in the sink. There was going to be one hell of a battle ahead of them. One considerably different from their usual ones. But they were still going to win. They were Winchesters, after all. This was going to be no different.

He needed to be alone.

"Where you going?" Dean asked as Sam pulled on his running shoes and headed out the door. "Out," he called over his shoulder, echoing the very words his brother would tell him whenever he was upset or frustrated. He was relatively composed as he made his way down the hall, out the building's main door. It wasn't until he began to run, feeling the cool morning breeze against his flushed face that he began to lose control. And so he ran faster, legs pumping, heart pounding in his chest. He ran until his lungs felt like they were going to burst in his chest. And when he finally felt his legs tremble beneath him, Sam collapsed against an alley wall, weeping violently. He cried for several minutes, body shaking and heaving with each broken sob. And when at last he had exhausted every tear, he wiped his eyes and began the walk home.

It was his turn to be the strong one.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Another update! On a roll with this one! Huge thanks to Nina Ferraro, BranchSuper, moonlightinparadise, LilyBolt, a Guest, and SPNFan for your awesome reviews and encouragement. And to those I can't reply to personally, thank you so much for your support! And thank you to all who are following, just reading, and/or adding this to your favourites. Much gratitude and love! And as always, I don't own **_**Supernatural,**_** just borrowing the boys.**

**Four**

When Sam returned to the apartment, he wasn't surprised to find the Impala gone. For a moment, he felt a stab of fear, anger, and resentment. Damn idiot had gotten pissed and left. Not surprising, really. Sam had dragged quite the massive secret out of his brother less than an hour earlier. Or maybe he didn't want the burden (or the charity) of his kid brother helping him with his medical bills. Because God forbid he accept that Sam loved him and wasn't about to just give up on his older sibling. With a sigh, Sam jammed the key with a little too much vigour into the lock and pulled the heavy door open. Maybe Dean wasn't home at the moment, but he would have to break the news to Jess. And while she would definitely be supportive, Sam wasn't sure how well she would accept his dropping out of college and depleting his savings on a man she had just met not even twenty-four hours earlier.

And so Sam was also far from surprised to see Jessica sitting on the sofa, leafing through a copy of _Time_ magazine and looking zero interested in the articles within. Sure enough, the minute the door opened, she tossed the periodical on the coffee table, a look of not anger, but concern on her face.

"So, are you ready to tell me what's going on, Sam?" she asked softly, pushing aside to leave room for her boyfriend and patting the empty space invitingly. With a sigh, he kicked off his runners and settled next to her. For the first time in their relationship, he felt nervous to confront Jess. He didn't want to place such a heavy burden on her shoulders. It wasn't fair to her. So he remained silent, picking up the very magazine she had been glancing at. Until he felt gentle hands tug it away. "Please, Sam. Something is wrong. I know it. I know you don't like talking about your past, but if your brother plans on staying here for a while, I need to know what's going on."

"Is Dean still here? Didn't see his car out front."

"He said he'd be back soon. Needed to cool off a bit." Sam sighed in relief. So Dean wasn't skipping out on him. That was something, at least.

"Sam?" Jess's voice, soft and gentle, brought Sam back from his reverie. This was it. He'd have to tell her. And not just because of the financial burden; because Sam Winchester finally realized why he had been dreading sharing this news with his girlfriend. Because to tell her would be to admit to himself, to actually accept, that Dean was dying. Not an option. At least, not yet.

But Sam knew he didn't have a choice. Sam chuckled to himself grimly, thinking of how the shoe was suddenly on the other foot. How not one hour ago, Dean had been going through the exact motions in confronting his brother. He felt another tear (goddamn him, why couldn't he stop crying?) slide down his cheek and he reached for Jess's hand.

"He has cancer." The words were barely above a whisper. Jess let out a sympathetic gasp and Sam felt the waterworks threaten to overcome him again, but he managed to control the onslaught. "Liver. Stage III. He's going in for surgery in a few days, but if that doesn't work..."

"Oh my God, Sam. I'm so sorry..." Jessica pulled him in for a hug, and for a minute, Sam allowed himself to be held. To just indulge in grief and self pity for a few minutes, before Dean returned and he put on his mask. A minute later, however, he pulled her away gently. His eyes, fortunately, were dry now, the crying spell temporarily over.

"What are you going to do if that doesn't work?"

Here goes. Sam drew a deep breath. Moment of truth.

"I told him he could crash with us, if it was ok with you. He needs to be somewhere other than a shitty motel. He needs to be with his family."

"Of course he can stay. I heard there might be some two bedrooms available soon. We were talking of upgrading anyway. And there's no way your brother is going to sleep on a sofa bed." Sam smiled, suddenly loving the young woman before him more than ever. "That'd be nice. I was kinda wondering about that too."

"What about the fall, though? If he's still with us, no one will be here with him. He'll need someone with him just in..." She paused, a look of almost disbelief on her face. "You're dropping out, aren't you?"

Sam nodded, picking at a stray piece of lint on the knit throw beside him. "He's my brother, Jess. He'd do the same for me. And I can't just let him..." _No. He's not going to die. He has cancer. And people recover from it every day. Stop thinking of him as being dead already._ "He's going to need all the support he can get now. And I intend on being there for him every step of the way."

"But you're so close. You've always wanted to be a lawyer, Sam." But there was no persuasion in her voice, and Sam knew that his girlfriend understood his intentions. He gently kissed her on the lips, smiling sadly. "I know, hon. And I will finish school. Just not today." The young woman smiled back, gently brushing aside a lock of hair from his face. She peered into eyes that just last night had been so full of life; that shone with happiness, laughter, love. And while she could still see that love in the hazel irises, Jessica could also see the anger, sadness, hurt, and grief. Emotions he was no doubt trying so hard to hold back, for her sake. "Oh, sweetheart," she murmured, kissing him gently on the forehead. "I understand. Do what you think is best for your brother." She never mentioned the medical bills, and Sam felt a hint of relief. He didn't want to drop that one too soon. She'd find out soon enough.

A rumble outside announced that Dean had returned from his drive, and Sam sighed, wiping any stray traces of tears from his face. He felt an immense relief that his brother had returned; Sam's own outburst earlier had been similar to those Dean had had growing up. And after each one, he had always returned. But on the walk home, Sam had been afraid that his brother would take his need for solitude as a sign that he didn't want to carry this burden. A ridiculous idea, really. Both Winchesters would move heaven and earth for each other, regardless of the years of estrangement the pair had gone through. But it was also true that both had a nasty habit of hiding their feelings, bottling them up until the pressure was too great and one of them exploded. Always with horrible results. And this was most definitely not the time or that.

To Sam's relief, Dean seemed calm as he entered the apartment, a paper bag under his arm. "Figured since I'm gonna be here a while, might as well try to hold my weight a bit," he smiled tiredly as he set the bag on the counter and shoved his keys into his jeans pocket. Sam opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it. His brother had always needed to be the caregiver, not the recipient of it. So instead, he thanked his brother and began unloading the few groceries from the bag. Taking the hint, Jessica began putting them away, smiling her thanks as she did so. It seemed so normal, and Sam felt sick to his stomach. But he was also well aware that he would have to get used to this. Dean would have his good days and his bad. And to act as normal as possible was the best option in the long run. Dean didn't need the constant reminders that he was sick. He'd no doubt be getting a lot more in the weeks to come. Sure enough, Dean smiled gratefully and offered to help with supper. Jess had initially protested, but with one glance from Sam, she relented. "Dean needs this," he had confided with her later that evening. "He needs to feel as normal as possible. And for him, normal was taking care of me, cooking for me. While he's healthy enough, let him help out. Please."

The day passed pleasantly enough. Shortly after Sam's return from his jog, Dean had fallen asleep on the couch, an old John Wayne western playing on the TV. Gently Sam covered his sleeping brother, switching off the program so as not to disturb him. It pained him to see his brother like this, so weak and helpless. The sight nearly made Sam physically ill. But he knew that it was his turn to put on his game face. Dean had done that far too many times throughout their childhood. This time, it would be his turn to be the strong one.

XXX

The shit didn't hit the fan until later that evening.

As expected, Jess was far from pleased about Sam's plans to fund Dean's future medical bills.

"Sam, we're barely getting by as it is. As much as I wish I could, I just can't afford this. My insurance has shitty coverage as it is let alone cancer treatments. Don't you have an uncle in Sioux Falls? Couldn't he help out?"

"I haven't spoken to Bobby in years," Sam explained patiently. "And I don't want to throw this on him. He'll have to know about Dean sometime, but I'm not going to beg him for money." The last thing Sam wanted to do was burden their family friend. They'd used up their fair share of his medical insurance on their hunting accidents and he was damned sure that he wasn't going to clean the older hunter out. The man had done more than enough for them as it was. "And I'm not asking you to use your insurance, or even your savings. I'm talking about mine."

"Since when did you have half decent medical, Sam Winchester? You're no better off money wise than I am."

"Don't worry about it, I've got it covered."

Jess sighed in frustration. "What is it with you and your secrets? What is so special about your family that you can't tell your own girlfriend?" She could feel her voice catching and quickly Jessica wiped aside the tears of frustration pooling in her blue-green eyes. "Sometimes I feel like I don't even know you."

"I've told you all I could," Sam retorted, feeling his voice rising. Suddenly remembering his sleeping brother and drew a deep breath,struggling to contain his own frustration. The last thing he wanted was to wake Dean. Especially due to a fight in which he was the subject. "Look, I understand, Jess. Really, I do. But I do have some insurance I can use." _From Sam McGillicuty, _he thought wryly. He had hated to rely on fraudulent insurance cards, but between those and his legit insurance he'd had included in his tuition, he estimated that he could afford a good chunk of Dean's medical expenses.

Jessica looked up at Sam and for a moment, he thought she would continue her argument. Instead, she walked over to him and held him tight. He sighed, relishing in the scent of her coconut shampoo. "I'm sorry, Sam," she murmured into his ear. "I know I'm probably acting like a world class bitch. I'm worried about Dean too. But I'm also worried about you."

"Don't be," he said simply, gently kissing his girlfriend on the lips. As horrible as this whole situation was, Sam was so damn grateful that he had her. Because without the woman of his dreams at his side, he wasn't sure if he could get through. And if Dean were to... well, even with Jessica Moore at his side, Sam Winchester wasn't sure he'd be able to go on.

**Secondary A/N: So I decided to add a little conflict with Jess. My intentions were not to make her come across as a selfish bitch. We never really saw enough of her on screen to show any flaws, and nobody's perfect. So I figured this would be a good time to show her in well, not a negative light, but as a human. One who would fight with her boyfriend in a stressful time, not because she is heartless, but because she is stressed. So I hope you all don't get upset to see a non sweet, perfect Jessica. Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you so much for the support this story has been receiving! You guys are what keep me motivated to update, even when I'm not exactly in the mood! Thanks to LilyBolt, Halit, mb64, BranchSuper, Darth Tornado, moonlightinparadise, and a Guest for their reviews (and I'm very glad to know my slight addition to Jessica's character was well received!). Thanks also to those who have followed/favorited too. As well as all the newbies just starting this. Welcome! As for **_**Supernatural,**_** I sadly don't own it. **

**Five**

"Why is it on TV that all the nurses are hot? Jeez man," Dean murmured as he watched the grandmotherly like woman leave the hospital room, off to check on her latest patient. Sam rolled his eyes, trying to hide the small grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah. Because everything you see on TV isn't a manufactured representation of reality." Dean chuckled, one of the few genuine laughs he'd had in weeks. "God, even when it comes to TV you're a geek, Sammy." But there was laughter in his eyes. It felt good to hear Sam talking back at him, just like before. Things were far from normal at the moment, but in that small exchange, Dean had been reminded of the good old days. Of drinking beer under the stars, laughing at shitty werewolf movies while eating cold pizza, of their playful insults in the front seat of the Impala. And in the days to come, there would be very little of that. And so, if Dean had to make a comment about the hotness, or lack thereof, of one of his nurses to get a hint of a smile, then so be it.

It had been four days since Dean's abrupt return to Sam's life, and now the elder Winchester was in a small hospital room, awaiting to be wheeled into surgery, having gone through the usual walk through of what to expect during and what to do afterwards. He had on his usual game face, making jokes and bitching about the shitty daytime television, but if he were to be honest with himself, Dean Winchester was terrified. And despite the seemingly calm air Sam was showing, he could tell that his younger brother was, too. But it wasn't typical of either brother to hug it out, even in circumstances such as this. He was never the one to be quick to share his feelings, and while Sam would always want Dean to dish it out, his kid brother wasn't exactly eager to open up, either. Growing up as John Winchester's sons, without the loving influence of their mother, neither Sam nor Dean had been subjected to the "share and care" method of dealing. But that didn't make the nagging fear any easier. Dean had been adamant that should the surgery fail, he was prepared to give up, rather than subject Sam to financial burden (not that the kid would listen, he had definitely inherited their father's stubborn streak). But that didn't mean that he really wanted to die. Not necessarily for his sake. He had stared death in the face on several different occasions, and wasn't afraid. But what terrified him was how Sam would handle his death. He had been hopeful to learn that the kid had a girlfriend; at least there would be someone to take care of him should he...well, you know. But Dean knew his little brother. And while Jess would be a source of comfort for him, Sam would be broken. And he wasn't sure if Jessica Moore would be able to put together the pieces.

"Uh, Dean..."

Dean snapped out of his reverie at the sound of Sam's voice. Timid, as if he had been wrestling for hours with the decision to speak up. Tiredly, Dean looked up at his brother, knowing damn well what his brother was wanting to say, and not wanting to hear it at all. He didn't need the goodbye speech. Not yet. "No, Sam. Don't even think about it. I'm gonna be fine." Sam nodded, biting his lower lip as he struggled to regain composure. It was a habit he had acquired as a toddler, a sign Dean had quickly recognized and had learned to act accordingly. Cuddles with a story book, a glass of apple juice or bowl of _Lucky Charms;_ all things which could easily be fixed. But not this. It would take nothing but Dean's full recovery to fix this mess.

Fortunately for Dean, just before Sam could change his mind, a mild mannered doctor knocked on the door, a professional looking smile on her face. Jess was in tow, holding two cups of coffee and a few automotive magazines for Dean. "I'm Dr. Ryder, Dean's oncologist," she introduced, offering her hand to Sam. "You must be Dean's brother. A pleasure to meet you."

The formalities exchanged, Dr. Ryder immediately switched to business mode. "Dean has already granted me permission to share with you about Dean's cancer. As you likely are aware, Dean's cancer is in Stage III. What he may not have mentioned that there are different sub stages, if you will. Three A, B, and C. Dean is in stage 3A, which means that there are multiple cancerous tumours in his liver, in this case, two, with the possibility of a third developing, with at least one tumour being larger than 5cms. The good news is that in this stage, the cancer has yet to spread to the lymph nodes, and there is a fifty percent chance that the surgery will remove most, if not all, of the cancer. However, should the surgery not be successful, a liver transplant may be considered. Fortunately, since Dean only has one tumour larger than the 5cm scale, there is a chance that transplantation would be successful. In that case, the goal would be to ensure that the tumours do not have a chance to enlarge. At that time, your brother would have to undergo further chemotherapy and radiation treatments. But," seeing the rather overwhelmed look on Sam's face, "we'll cross that bridge when we get there. For now let's hope that the surgery is successful."

Just then, the nurse from earlier returned, followed by yet another doctor, who quickly introduced himself as Dr. Hetfield, Dean's surgeon. This earned a faint chuckle from Dean, clearly finding it amusing that the man performing his surgery shared the same name as the Metallica front man. The surgeon playfully rolled his eyes. "Get that a lot," he smiled. "All right, Dean, it's time. Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

As Dean was wheeled out of the room, he gave his brother a grin and wink. His way of saying "It'll be fine, I promise." Sam nodded, once again feeling another sob form from beneath his throat. But this was not the time. Not when Sam needed to be strong for his older brother. So instead he nodded in return, gave his brother a thumb's up. He watched until Dean was no longer in sight before making his way to the waiting room. The only thing left to do now was wait.

XXX

The hours ticked slowly, occasionally jumping in rare spurts, but mostly remaining at a near standstill. Dr. Hetfield had given an estimate of how long the surgery would take, and suggested that Sam grab a bite to eat or even take a walk in the nearby park. "The surgery will take several hours," he had warned. "This is a standard procedure. Dean's in very good hands, Mr. Winchester." But Sam had refused. Standard or otherwise, he wanted to be there when it was over. To be at Dean's side when he woke up. And when Jess had suggested they grab a bite in the cafeteria, Sam had shaken his head. "I'm good, thanks hon." So Jess had gone on her own for a quick lunch. But had smiled in faint relief when Sam had eaten the chicken salad sandwich she had brought back for him.

Slowly the hours passed. Sam continued to pace the small room, glancing at the clock above the door every few minutes, until Jess finally told him to calm down. "You're making me nervous," she admitted. Nodding, Sam allowed himself to be led to one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. Jess gently laid a hand on his knee, and the former hunter felt himself calm. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Jess," he muttered."I'm going crazy as it is."

Jess smiled warmly, gently squeezing his knee. "I know it's scary," she said. "But Dean seems like a pretty tough guy." Sam nodded, gently grasping her hand. "Yeah," he agreed softly. "He is." _He's come out a winner against wendigos, shifters, werewolves, god knows how many spirits. He'll beat this thing. He's Dean fucking Winchester after all. _Sam sighed, closing his eyes as Jessica wrapped his arm around him; Sam leaned into her touch, allowing the warmth of her body to comfort him. "I love you," he murmured, knowing full well that if Dean were to witness this he would be the victim of countless hours of teasing. But he didn't care. Hell, he'd give anything to have his brother call him Samantha right now. If that meant that he could wake up from this nightmare.

It was like that, with Sam leaning into his girlfriend's gentle touch, that Dr. Hetfield found his patient's younger brother. At the sound of footsteps, Sam immediately sat up, rubbing the stiffness from his aching neck. At first, he looked hopeful. But at the look in the doctor's eyes, he felt his heart skip a beat.

"Mr. Winchester? We need to talk."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: WOW! I continue to be delighted at how many people are embracing this story! I am so thankful to each and every one of you! Even with the pressure to update faster! Though all kidding aside, it's such an honour that you guys really are that interested in what's going on! So a huge thank you to everyone who decided to join the ride! Thanks to GAARA1223, mb64, Nina Ferraro, Darth Tornado, and BranchSuper for your recent reviews. And thanks to all who have added this to your favourites, read, and followed this. You make a girl really happy! And as always, I don't own **_**Supernatural**_** or the boys.**

**Six**

"Mr. Winchester? We need to talk."

Sam felt the air rush from his lungs. For a moment, he sat there, unable to move, frozen in fear. This couldn't be happening. This was supposed to be routine. Hundreds of thoughts, all equally horrible, rushed through Sam's brain a mile a minute. The surgeon had fucked up; Dean had died on the table. Dean had somehow made it, but was now comatose. No. This couldn't be happening. But when Jess gave him a gentle nudge and squeeze on the shoulder, Sam weakly stood, making his way over to where Dr. Hetfield stood. This was it. Moment of truth.

"How's my brother, doc?" he finally asked faintly.

"He's resting in post-op now. We were able to remove some of the tumours from your brother successfully..."

"Wait. What do you mean, _some ?"_

"When did Dean last visit his oncologist. Mr. Winchester?"

Sam froze. Dean had told him he'd bailed out on his last treatment. Had the stupid sonofabitch let it go? Progress to a point where there was nothing to be done? _Goddamn it Dean..._

"Mr. Winchester..."

"I don't know," Sam finally responded weakly. "He showed up at my apartment four or five days ago and dropped the bombshell on me. I didn't even know he was sick until then..." He ran his fingers through his messy mop of brown hair, willing himself to calm down. God. This was a nightmare.

"Son, your brother's cancer is more advanced than we initially thought," Hetfield continued. "Dr. Ryder is on her way down now. She can tell you more about that. But for now, I can tell you that Dean's cancer is in fact in state 3B. This means that the cancer has grown into the hepatic vein, one of the liver's primary blood vessels. The good news is that it has yet to spread to the lymph nodes. Unfortunately, we were unable to remove all of the tumours. Dr. Ryder will fill you in on possible treatment. But for now, I believe the best strategy is transplantation."

Transplantation. Dean needed to have his liver removed. Because he skipped out on his latest appointment? Jesus Christ. Sam rubbed his forehead, wincing at the beginnings of a stress headache. "Dammit, Dean," he muttered. "You stubborn sonofabitch."

"I'm sorry," Hetfield continued. Sam looked up and felt a faint stab of anger at just now non-apologetic the doctor truly seemed. Of course, he had enough patients to worry about, and it would be unwise to become too personally connected, but a little sympathy couldn't kill the guy. Sam smiled wryly at his humourless pun.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I must head back to the OR." Sam watched as the middle aged surgeon turned and headed out of the room, rubber soled shoes squeaking on the linoleum as he walked. Jessica, noticing how pale her boyfriend looked, wrapped an arm around Sam to steady him, but he mechanically pushed her away. The young woman looked hurt for a moment, rather resentful that she couldn't be of any comfort. But she quickly brushed those thoughts aside. Sam needed his space; he was going through hell right now. God, if any of her siblings were dying, God knows how she'd handle it. And despite the fact that she knew little of this elusive Dean Winchester. Jess _did_ know that he and Sam had been very close growing up. From what she had gathered, he had nearly worshipped the ground Dean walked on. Of course he would want to be alone. But then, as if reading her thoughts, Sam gently squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry, hon. But I have to be with my brother now."

XXX

Dean was still unconscious when Sam finally made his way back to his brother's room. He was alone, Jess having decided to go home with the promise that she' return with clean clothes and some of her homemade chicken noodle soup. She had already guessed that her boyfriend wouldn't be coming home that night, the doctors having deciding to keep Dean overnight for observation. To be honest, Sam was relieved. He loved Jess with all his heart, and was so damn grateful that she would be with him every step of this horrific journey, but at the moment, he just wanted to be with his brother. The one he was so goddamned pissed at for letting his disease go to the point where he would need a liver transplant; the one he loved fiercely and with every fibre of his being, the one he would gladly trade places with if only he were to make it out of this.

"Always the stubborn one, aren't you Dean?" Sam looked down at his brother, noticing just how peaceful he looked as he slept. He could feel yet another lump form from beneath his throat, and he struggled to swallow it back. He couldn't be caught crying. The anaesthesia could wear off at any moment, and the last thing Sam wanted was for his brother to wake up to see him cry. He couldn't show weakness, not when Dean needed him the most. Blinking back the stray tears, Sam collapsed into a nearby chair to wait. To wait for Dr. Ryder to come in with her list of treatment options; for Dean to wake up from his surgery and hear the bad news. For the cancer to either be beaten or claim its next victim. Sam was normally a patient man; could go through hours of periodicals and texts to find the perfect source for his paper, or countless ancient texts to find the right spell for the hunt. But this, this endless waiting game, with the stakes being so high. It was too much. And the fight was only just beginning.

"Sam?"

The younger Winchester looked up, not surprised to see Dr. Ryder standing in the door, smiling warmly. "The nurses said you were likely here. Dean should be awake soon. When he does we can talk about further treatment options. For now, I just wanted to see how you were doing. This must have been very shocking and stressful for you."

"Yeah." _Understatement of the century._

"I just wanted to let you know, if you need anything, my office is open for you." She handed Sam a business card, which he accepted mechanically, with a mumbled "thanks." He expected the woman to leave as briskly as Dr. Hetfield had; instead, he felt a warm hand gently grasp his shoulder. "I know this is hard Sam. And I want you to know that I am doing everything in my power to help your brother. I promise."

_Can you save him? Can you cure him right now? Or are you just going to sit here and utter all these false promises under the guise of comfort? _"Dr., what are my brother's chances?"

Dr. Ryder sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose as if contemplating how to explain. "It's still to early to tell," she finally admitted. "As it stands, chemotherapy and/or radiation could help shrink the size of the tumour until we find a donor. But I don't want to give you any statistics or odds right now. It's still anyone's guess. We'll just have to wait and see to how Dean responds to the further treatment."

Sam nodded, once again cursing the familiar moisture forming from beneath his lids. It was what he had expected. The doctor didn't want to give him a straight answer. And though he perfectly understood why, it still frustrated him. Miracles did supposedly happen. But not to the Winchesters. But instead of lashing out, he simply nodded again, and waited for the doctor to just leave so he could be alone with his brother. And when she finally did, Sam once more collapsed into his chair, buried his face in his hands, and sobbed. He didn't care if Dean happened to wake up and catch him in the act. At the moment, he was done. He needed this moment of weakness, to cry it out, get it out of his system. Later he could be the strong one he had promised his brother he'd be. But for now, he needed to indulge. For several minutes Sam cried, struggling to contain his tears in hopes of not disturbing the other patients. And when he finally finished, he felt relatively calm. Ready to face this next step in this horrifying journey. He hoped Dean would be willing to take it, because he sure as hell was more than ready.

"Bring it on," he whispered, gently squeezing Dean's hand.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thank you all so much for sticking with this fic! Thanks to Alienmom, mb64, Halit, Detective Kid1412, ctskctsk, Darth Tornado, Branch Super, and babyreaper for your recent reviews! And as always, I don't own the boys. Just borrowing them. :)**

**Seven**

Dean seemed to take the news of his cancer's progression relatively well. This was of no surprise to Sam; his older brother always seemed to be able to carry a far heavier weight on his shoulder than he should have been. Had done so ever since he was a four-year-old carrying his infant brother from their burning home all those years ago. And so, while Sam had had his emotional breakdown upon hearing Dr. Ryder's prognosis, Dean had simply nodded his head, as if he had figured it to be inevitable. He had even made a joke about it. "Next time I get cancer, I won't skip my appointment for a few hot chicks." Usually one to crack a wry smile at his brother's grim humour, Sam had turned his head. He didn't want Dean to see him almost break down _again. _Dr. Ryder was also far from amused, judging by the somewhat maternal look (was that almost a glare? Dean wondered) she gave him.

"I think it's best if we wait a month, allow Dean to recover from his surgery, before starting the chemotherapy treatments. I normally would recommend starting earlier, but we also want you to be able to handle the treatments." She handed Dean a pamphlet, a young woman sitting in a chair and having her treatments being administered brandishing the cover. She looked far too happy to be having chemo, Sam thought grimly as he stole a glance at the glossy paper. Dr. Ryder continued, listing possible side effects (though he tried to hide it, Dean cringed slightly at the possibility of losing his hair) and risks. "You will have a higher chance of acquiring a second, unrelated cancer while both taking chemo and having radiation therapy," she advised. "But that is a risk we would have to take, should you go through with the treatments."

Sam cringed. Cancer drugs possibly causing cancer? This stuff was supposed to help _fight _it for goddsake. But Dean shrugged as he listened, still leafing through his pamphlet. "Well, what can I tell you, Sammy, I'm a gambling man." he grinned.

"Cancer or not, I'm tempted to deck you right now."

"You wouldn't hit your dear, sick older brother, wouldn't you?"

The sound of a throat clearing brought the boys back to attention. "Sorry," they both muttered, as if on cue, and Dr. Ryder smiled faintly. There was no mistake that they were brothers. She continued her spiel for several minutes, before finally leaving the room, promising to return with Dean's discharge papers. Finally, a half hour later, Sam was helping Dean into the passenger seat of the Impala, ignoring his older sibling's protests.

"I can drive, Sam."

"Only a few days ago you had surgery. There's no way in hell you're driving." Dean sulked for a while, but allowed himself to be escorted into the waiting car. He couldn't help but grin as he ran a hand across the dashboard. "Hey, baby, you miss me?" Sam rolled his eyes as he slid into the driver's side and turned the key; the jet black muscle car roared into life, and he eased the Impala out of the parking lot and back home. The ride was uneventful, a light rock station playing at low volume on the radio, the rumble of the engine lulling him to sleep almost as easily as his mother's soothing voice singing "Hey Jude" as a lullaby. As he drove, Sam stole glances at his brother, and felt his heart ache. What if this were one of the last times he rode in this car with him? Ever since Dean had been old enough to drive, it had been just the two of them, in their dad's old '67 Chevy. Countless miles covered, Dean belting his mullet rock off key while Sam rolled his eyes and tried desperately to change the channel, at one time threatening to toss out the geriatric cassette collection.

_Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole._

Sam could hear his brother's voice, loud and clear, as he had first told him that stupid rule. He remembered the day as if it were yesterday.

"_Deam, why do we always have to listen to Led Zeppelin? Seriously, this stuff is far beyond retro."_

"_Obviously you have shitty taste in music, bro. Have you actually listened to the music? 'Ramble On' is a classic."_

"_Yeah, to a stoner."_

"_Like that emo crap you listen to is any better."_

"_Ha, ha. When do I actually get a say in this man? When I'm eighty?"_

"_When you start driving, Sammy. Until then, driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."_

Sam closed his eyes briefly at the memory, and a small smile tugged at his lips. He had always taken advantage of Dean's stupid rule (despite the many protests by said older brother). But not today. Wordlessly, he pushed in the ejected cassette into the player and the opening riffs of "Master of Puppets" echoed through the car.

XXX

It didn't take long for a routine to settle in the Winchester-Moore place. Shortly before Dean started his first round of chemo, the trio moved downstairs into the two bedroom unit, as promised. Though not much bigger than their previous apartment, the second, smaller bedroom was more than enough for Dean to keep his privacy. Despite his illness and invalid insurance cards, the former hunter had managed to save enough cash for a few month's rent, in anticipation of being sidelined by his cancer treatments. Initially, Sam had refused the money, despite his conversation with Jessica about trying to stay as normal as possible. Sick or otherwise, he didn't want to take his brother;s well, um, _earned, _money. But Jess had reminded him that, pride or otherwise, a few month's back rent was a godsend, and told him not to kick a gift horse in the month. "You told me yourself that Dean needs to feel normal," she told him in private afterwards. "And we need the money." Sam had finally agreed, and, much to Dean's relief, accepted the cash.

The two worked in pairs. Jess worked overtime as a waitress at the local Denny's, putting half of her tip earnings aside to help cover Dean's medial expenses. On her days off, Sam worked part time at a local grocer's, and occasionally tutored neighbourhood children on the side, under the table. Almost every time, there was a little extra on the side, "for the excellent service." But Sam knew damn well their true intentions. By now it was old news that Sam Winchester's older brother, the one he'd hadn't seen in years, suddenly dropped by with a cancer diagnosis. And while some shunned him, thinking Dean to be a moocher who suddenly wanted his brother now that he was possibly dying and facing massive medical bills, most opened their hearts graciously, any way they could. Much to Sam's surprise (and Dean's embarrassment) several fundraisers had been organized, from his and Jess' classmates, local businesses, even Jessica's church, despite the fact that she hadn't set foot inside for a good year. Sam had been overwhelmed by the generosity of his friends, neighbours, and even complete strangers. He had secretly been fearing that, promise or no, he would have to take out a bank loan to help cover Dean's treatments. And he knew that his older brother would draw the line at that one.

XXX

The night before the first scheduled chemo treatment, Sam found his brother sitting on the steps outside their building, staring at the night sky. He looked almost wistful, lost in thought. For a moment, the younger Winchester backed away, not wanting to disturb him. But Dean scooted aside, leaving room for his freakishly tall kid brother, and Sam obliged. For a moment, they were silent, both sipping on bottles of spring water. There were so many things Sam wanted to tell him; that it was okay to feel scared, that he was going to be there every step of the way, even through the unpleasant times. That they would get through this together, as brothers, because that was the goddamn Winchester way, after all. But no words would come, as much as Sam desperately wanted them to. _No surprise there. We never were the sharing type. _

It was after a few minutes of silence that Dean finally spoke up.

"Remember that night, when you were about six, when I took you out star gazing?" Dean chuckled, and closed his eyes, as if lost in the pleasant memory. "You loved that stuff, man. You kept pointing out the constellations, always asking me about the 'people in the sky'. You always had an eye for that stuff, even in grade one. Fuck, you were always a bright kid, Sammy." He smiled, patting him on the leg, and Sam felt his throat tighten for what seemed like the thousandth time in four weeks. Why was Dean talking like this? It was too soon for the goodbye speech, or at least the Dean Winchester version. _Shit, Dean. You're gonna make me break down again. Jesus, it seems like the only thing I know how to do is bawl lately. Even though you never caught me._

"Yeah," he finally said softly. "I remember."

"I wish you could actually see the stars in the city. God, in the country, you could see 'em for miles. It was really somethin'. But with all the streetlamps and shit, you never really get a good look at em. But they're always there. Maybe you can't see 'em, but they're still up there."

"Dean, please don't." In chocked voice barely recognized as his own.

"Hey, I'm just stating the facts. You of all people should like that stuff, Geek Boy." But, thank God, Dean dropped the subject. They sipped their waters in silence, until the buzzing of Sam's phone and Jess's subsequent text reminded him that dinner was ready. Slowly, Sam helped his brother to his feet and they headed back inside, Dean's less than optimistic metaphor hopefully long forgotten.


	8. Chapter 8

**First of all, I'm so sorry for the lateness of this one. Been really busy at work, plus my few days off were around Canada Day, so no time to write. But here it is now! Hope you enjoy! Thank you Branch Super, SuperVikingGirl, minank, GAARA1223, mb64, Darth Tornado, OldNarnian, moonlightinparadise, AndSoIWrite, LilyBolt, and Astiar for your reviews of the last chapter (and thanks LilyBolt for the three kind reviews in a row, I'm glad you enjoyed your binge session!). And as always, I don't own **_**Supernatural.**_

**Eight**

"No. You're not staying."

Sam looked down at his brother incredulously. For a moment, he was too stunned by his brother's response, when it should have actually been of no surprise. Dean was adamant that he undergo his first round of chemotherapy alone; and though he would never admit it, once Sam had gotten over the initial shock, he understood that Dean was trying to hide his anxiety from him. But that didn't stop Sam from demanding, in his usual way that often came across as whiny to his older brother, why he couldn't be there with him.

"Because I'm the oldest."

Sam immediately went into "bitch face mode" at that line. "Dean. I'm twenty-two. That line is beyond childish right now." Dean, laying on a hospital bed and connected to an IV line, looked so vulnerable to the younger Winchester. This man, the one who hunted ghouls and spirits for a living, being jabbed and prodded, filled with chemicals that would more than likely make him sicker than he was now. It was too much, and for a moment, Sam almost considered honouring his brother's request. But the young man stood his ground.

"Dean. I want to be here for you man. You're my brother."

"And that's why I want you to leave. I don't want you to have to see me like this." In one brief moment of rare honesty, Dean slowly raised his jabbed arm, gesturing to the bag of powerful drugs which were slowly dripping into his veins. The drugs that would, with any luck, keep the cancer from spreading. Sam felt his eyes misting, and he quickly turned away. Fuck. He was so tired of crying. Of trying not to in front of his brother. He closed his eyes, looking back on his life from just a month earlier. Of a time where his biggest worries were of finals and term papers, or scraping enough money to pay the rent when money was a bit tight. Of when he and Jess' relationship seemed almost flawless. Before, they had rarely had an argument in all their time together. But lately, both she and Sam seemed to be on edge. Though shouting matches were rare, and Jessica was fully supportive of his commitment to his brother, the stress seemed to be getting the best of them. The one subject which never seemed to be dropped, the Achilles heel, was Jess' insistence that Sam try to contact their father.

"_He has the right to know, Sam. His son has cancer, and doesn't even know. How is that right?"_

"_Dean doesn't want to tell him, and I respect that. Besides, the guy is so fucking hard to reach. He never answers his phone."_

"_What if your father had known, and not told you? How would you feel if your brother died and you had no idea because your father hadn't even tried to let you know?"_

Sam shuddered at the memory. It was the first time he had ever honestly yelled at his girlfriend, to the point that she, usually the strong one, had run to the safety of their bedroom; he could hear the broken sobs from behind the closed door. Immediately afterwords, Sam had felt horrible for acting the way he had. There had been no need for him to overreact like that. But she had said something he had been denying avidly in public, but was secretly fearing from the moment he had first heard of Dean's diagnosis: that his older brother would die. Something that he just couldn't accept. And to have Jessica openly discuss the possibility had been too much. Later that evening, after allowing her some time to cool down, he had apologized, told her the truth of how her mentioning Dean's possible death had frightened him. The two had sat on their bed for an hour, holding each other and crying softly, until the stirring in the next room reminded them that Dean had been asleep, had somehow slept through the entire fight. Which had led to Sam sharing childhood memories of how his brother could sleep through anything, the two sharing a laugh, and the argument had been dropped. But not forgotten.

"Sam?"

Sam blinked, not realizing just how far he had let his mind wander. Clearing his throat, he turned to his brother. "Yeah, sorry, man. Kinda wandered off a bit there."

"You ok, Sammy? Why don't you go grab a coffee or something to eat a? I know hospital food isn't exactly gourmet, but hey, no worse than some of the crap you eat."

"Salads aren't crap." But Sam was smiling slightly, and Dean nodded. He didn't need to see his brother brooding all the time. And while he knew damn well that he would likely act the same way should the shoe be on the other foot, it still upset him to see Sam walking around, acting like he would keel over at any minute. He wanted Sam to be happy; and while Dean would be foolish to think that Sam would be ok should the time come and he really were to die, he had hoped that his relationship with Jessica would help that wound. Keep it from being infected, so to speak. But now, Dean was starting to wonder if even Jess' presence would do anything should the worst happen.

After several minutes, Sam finally agreed to run down and grab a quick bite, but that he would likely return and actually eat in the hospital room. Dean groaned, but accepted the small victory as he watched his freakishly tall brother disappear down the hall. For a moment, he listened as Sam's footsteps grew fainter as he headed to the elevator, until eventually they were silent. Now that he was alone, he had time to think about the long road ahead, and allow himself the luxury of actually worrying. As much as he hated charity, he was relieved that the outpouring from the community had helped; already enough had been raised to cover at least a few rounds of chemo without Sam having to rely on his insurance.

And then there was school. Would Sam be willing to go back should he actually die of this? Part of him was hopeful that perhaps he would, mainly as a distraction. But would that make his schooling serve only as a painful reminder of what had happened? That Sam would remember his last years in university as a coping mechanism? That was the last thing he wanted for his younger brother; Sam had always loved school, studying, learning new things. And to think that he would pour all his energy into his studies for the wrong reasons disturbed him. He closed his eyes, listening to the faint drip of the IV and waiting for the inevitable sickness to hit him. And as he lay there, a new thought suddenly came to him.

_I gotta fight this. Not for me. But for Sammy. I'm not gonna die. I'm gonna kick cancer's ass where the fucking sun won't shine._

Dean had never realized that he had practically given up before. The missed appointments, the whole plan to meet up with his brother just to have a comfortable place to crash until the time came; even his whole stargazing speech from the night before. It had all been subtle tugs from his subconscious telling him that he _might_ live through this, but in all likelihood he was going to die. No wonder Sam's prognosis for him was so bleak. It was time for the pity party to end.

"Bring it on," he told the empty room, staring at the IV stand as if giving the medicine dripping from the plastic sac into his veins an ultimatum. He was a Winchester, goddamit. And Winchesters never backed down without a fight.

XXX

Sam sat in the crowded cafeteria, picking at his spinach salad absently. He could barely hear the buzz of the crowd, the sound a low mumbling in his ear. He had no appetite for the food before him, his stomach churning at the little plastic container before him. Dean would be upset, no doubt. He would want him to eat, to not make himself sick and end up in the hospital himself, but the sight of food was far from appealing at the moment. How could he possibly be hungry when his brother was, at this very moment, getting injections of god knows what kind of poison into his bloodstream? Sam sighed, speared a hard boiled egg drenched in poppy seed dressing before dropping the plastic fork into the container with disgust.

He was thinking about the argument he and Jess had had the week before, the one about telling their dad about Dean's sickness. He had been adamant that his father be kept out of the loop on this one. For one, he respected his brother's wishes about keeping the sickness quiet. John Winchester had always been a marine at heart, even as a parent. It had always been "yessir" and "nosir" whenever addressed. He and Dean had always been expected to follow his orders, be it hunting related or otherwise. And while, in later years, Sam had been wont to ignore his father and stand up to him, Dean had always been the good little soldier he was expected to be. Clean the weapons? Yessir. Research that possible shifter attack? Yessir. Look out for Sammy? You better believe, yessir. He was never one to show weakness before his dad, even when he was coming down with the flu or any other typical childhood illness. And even though John would always scold Dean for hiding his sickness (_a hunter needs to rely on his partner, son. You can't keep things like being sick from me. It could be dangerous_) the kid who had grown up too fast would always feel guilty for being under the weather. As if he were letting his father down.

So, yeah, Sam understood why Dean would want to keep something like this a secret from their dad. And, if he were being honest with himself, he also wasn't ready to face his father. He hadn't left home on the best of terms, and wasn't ready for the inevitable shouting match, especially considering Dean's condition. He hoped his father would have the decency to keep the peace considering the circumstances. And, if he were to admit it to himself, Sam was afraid that even he would end up in a heated argument with the man. Not acceptable, and most certainly not what Dean needed.

But Jessica was right, as usual. If the tables had been turned, and John had known about his firstborn's illness, Sam would have been beyond hurt (and extremely pissed) should he have been left out of the loop. Dean had been there for him, his best and practically only childhood friend, for as long as he could remember. And for him to be sick, possibly dying, without his even knowing...

Sam pulled the cell phone from his pocket, staring at it. The phone seemed to be mocking him, taunting him to make that one call. "He probably won't even answer," he muttered, pocketing the device. But that nagging feeling continued to bother him as he finally finished his tasteless lunch and made his way back to his brother's room. Maybe Jess was right. Maybe he really did need to talk to his father. But as he sat at his brother's bedside, making small talk and watching the end of some stupid daytime talk show, that nagging feeling kept gnawing at him, clawing at him like a savage beast. He pushed the thought aside as the nurse arrived at the end of the session to disconnect the IV, and briefly forgot about it. Dean continued with his lame attempts of making light of the situation; Jessica came home from work and he set about making dinner while she relaxed in front of the TV; the duo finished the last of the unpacking before settling into bed with the Jayhawks game on mute in the background. It wasn't until the apartment was quiet when Sam remembered his earlier attempts to contact his father.

Once again he pulled out his phone, stared at it. He had even gotten as far as scrolling to his father's name on the contact list. Why he hadn't deleted it earlier was anyone's guess, but he found himself hitting the dial button, listening to the sound of the phone ringing on the other end of the line. What would he possibly say if his father _did_ pick up? _Hi dad, just to let you know Dean has cancer and might be dying? _It was absurd.

The phone continued to ring, and sure enough, eventually went to his dad's voicemail. The familiar, gravelly tone he had known all so well, and yet had not heard in years, greeted him. _This is John Winchester. If this is an emergency, call my son Dean at 866-907-3235._ The usual beep, and for a moment, Sam couldn't speak. Was he making a huge mistake by betraying his brother's confidence? It wasn't too late to hang up; he could just end the call now, forget about calling again. He had tried, after all, and for all Jess knew, his father didn't have voicemail. But he found himself speaking, his voice sounding young and incredibly scared.

"Hey, Dad. It's me, Sam. I know we haven't really talked, but if you could call me back... uh, it's about Dean. It's pretty bad and I... I just need you to come to California. We can talk more later. Please... Yeah, gotta go Dad. Bye."

Sam ended the call, gently setting the phone down on his bedside table. For a moment, he stood there, allowing the pounding in his heart to settle. A few minutes later, he slid beneath the covers and fell into a restless, dreamless sleep. Little did he know that beside him, the woman of his dreams was quietly crying. She had heard the entire one sided conversation. At first, she had been glad that Sam had actually heeded her advice and made the call. But listening to her boyfriend's voice, so hopeless and scared, her heart broke for him. Careful so as not to wake him, she turned and gently grasped his hand. "It's gonna be ok, baby," she whispered, gently kissing him on the forehead just as Sam had said Dean had done to him as a little boy. "It will all be ok. I promise."

_._


	9. Chapter 9

**Nine**

**Again, sorry for the lateness. Been super busy and didn't have as much time to post. But my vacation starts tomorrow, so I should have time to post a bit quicker! Thanks to BranchSuper, Darth Tornado, minank, and LilyBolt for reviewing chapter 8! And thanks to those who have read, followed, or added this story to your favorites list. And no, I don't own **_**Supernatural.**_

The man sitting at the motel table, features rough and harried after years of hunting, looked down at the cellular phone he held in trembling hands. Mixed emotions surged in his heavy heart: elation to finally hear the voice of his youngest after so many years; anger, for he was still _very_ upset that the kid had abandoned his family for a fancy law degree; and fear, for that very same young man had called him to tell him his first born, the one child that had baptized his beautiful Mary into motherhood, was in trouble. And from the sound of Sam's voice it was very serious.

"_Hey, Dad. It's me, Sam. I know we haven't really talked, but if you could call me back... uh, it's about Dean. It's pretty bad and I...I just need you to come to California. We can talk more later. Please... Yeah, gotta go Dad. Bye."_

Sam's voice had been chocked up, as if he were trying desperately not to cry. This was what worried John Winchester the most. Sam _rarely_ lost his composure, and the few times he had had always revolved around his older brother. Like the time Dean had mysteriously disappeared those few months he was in boarding school. John had always rather regretted that decision. Of course, Dean had needed to learn to be more careful, to make sure that his rebellious streak didn't result in carelessness. But seeing Sam so broken, so _lost... _it had nearly broken the grizzled hunter's sometimes rather pathetic excuse of a heart.

"_Dad, what if he doesn't come back?"_

"_Sammy, I've looked all over for your brother. Pastor Jim and Uncle Bobby are too. We're going to find Dean, son."_

"_But what if you don't? What if – if the same thing that killed Mom has Dean too?"_

John had not heard his son's voice sound as helpless and broken as it had then. And it had been his fault. He had not told Sam the truth of his brother's absence, instead choosing to make up a tale of his brother vanishing. It was a dick move, he knew, but he hadn't wanted Sam to think that his father was abandoning his own son, even if the ends had justified the means. And now, looking down at his cell and replaying Sam's voicemail over and over in his mind, he finally understood how his boy had felt. The not knowing was almost, perhaps even was, worse than the truth. Had Dean been severely injured in a hunting accident? A car crash? Was he lying in a hospital bed, clinging to life?

But there was still the hunt. By now he had finally identified his wife's killer: a demon. But not jut any demon. One with mysterious, ominous, yellow eyes. He had never in all his years of hunting heard of a yellow-eyed demon, usually only the typical black eyed sonsofbitches, or the odd red eyed ones guarding the crossroads. He still wasn't sure on how to kill it, but he was definitely on his trail, and abandoning it could prove to be devastating. When would he ever get the chance to find the bastard again? What if this would prove to be the one and only time to avenge Mary's death?

But what of his son? From the sounds of things, Dean was in bad shape. The fact that Sam had even called, after years of estrangement, was proof enough. There was no way Mary would forgive him for abandoning him. Hell, he wasn't sure if he would forgive himself. And the kid had left it nearly two weeks ago. Anything could have happened. Oh God, what if Dean were...no. He couldn't acknowledge that his son may be dead. And that he had died without his own father knowing because of his goddamned obsession with hunting.

"_Hey, Dad. It's me, Sam..."_

Listening to the message for what seemed like the hundredth time, John poured himself a glass of Jack, downed half in a setting despite the fact that the alarm by his bed only read 8:30 AM. After a few minutes, he tried Dean's number. Perhaps Sam was overreacting, and the boy was actually fine. He would call Sam back, scold him for making him worry, and go back to hunting the demon. Forget this whole thing had even happened. But a nagging feeling in the pit of John's stomach was telling him that something was still very, very wrong.

He was not surprised when Dean's phone went straight to voicemail.

Frustrated, John tossed the device on the table beside him, finished his glass of whiskey. For a second, he considered another round; had even picked up the bottle, nearly poured a fresh glass. But after a moment, he set it down. He needed to have a clear mind, at least for the next while.

Yellow Eyed Demon be damned. Hurriedly John packed his clothes and weapons, grabbed his keys, and left the motel. Ten minutes later, he was on the freeway southwest to California.

XXX

The sickness began about two weeks following Dean's first round of chemotherapy. When only a few weeks ago the desperate desire for beer and his inability to have one had been almost torturous. Now, the smell of the drink was enough to make him vomit. Bacon cheeseburgers, pizza, his favourite black coffee... even pie seemed revolting. Sam and Jess tried their best to accommodate, preparing meals with less of the usual spice in hope of encouraging Dean to eat (and keep the kitchen free from the strong aromas which usually came with his and Jess' favourite dishes. Soups were more frequent menu items, despite the early August heat, they being one of the few foods Dean could manage to keep down.

Dean hated every moment of his illness. Not because of how shitty he felt. He could deal with anything, after all, he was Dean fucking Winchester. But it was the look of sympathy and worry on his brother's face which bothered him the most. The entire time Sam had been there, in the middle of the night, rubbing his back and applying cold compresses to his sweat streaked forehead as he heaved. And as much as it felt good to feel the dampness of the cloths and the soothing voice of his kid brother as he massaged the strains from his back and shoulders, it also upset him. Sam wasn't supposed to be doing this for him. Dean was supposed to be the one helping _him._ He was supposed to be looking out for the kid, and he sure as hell wasn't doing that puking his fucking guts out every goddamned day. But as much as he wanted to chew the kid out for his mother henning, Dean just felt so fucking _awful._ Not only was he nauseous, he was exhausted; it was a challenge just getting out of bed in the morning, and afternoon naps were even more frequent than before. Which only seemed to intensify Sam's overprotective behaviour.

"Did you take your meds, Dean?" Referring to the anti-nausea pills Dr. Ryder had prescribed shortly after the trips to the bathroom had become less manageable.

"Yes, Sam," Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. "'Cause I really enjoy puking up a storm every goddamn hour. Come on!" _God, even when he's sick, he's still a smartass._

"Well, you better be. I don't exactly feel like cleaning barf off the bathroom floor." But despite the humour in his voice, Dean could tell that Sam was worried about him. Yeah, he would have taken the meds anyway; he hadn't been lying about how miserable the chemo was making him. And he knew that should Sam be the one going through this whole cancer shit, Dean would have been making damn sure that he take his pills. Would have been mother henning to the point of aggravation, just as his little brother was now. And the fussing. Do you need any water? Is that blanket too hot? Just try to eat it. And for the most part he was just too miserable to fight back.

And so for the first time Dean Winchester could remember, he let his little brother take care of him. At first, there had been some resistance. Old habits die hard, and Sam had been getting increasingly frustrated by his brother's behaviour.

"For god's sake, Sammy, I'm twenty-six. I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, I know you can. But you have cancer..."

"Yes. I have cancer. Doesn't make me a fucking invalid for Chrissakes."

And there it was. The biting of the bottom lip; the way he turned his head away. Those goddamned puppy dog eyes. Every time, from the moment the kid had learned the manipulative power of that one stupid look... and it worked like a charm. For the most part. But this time, Dean was standing his ground.

"Look man, I get it. You wanna help. I'd be worse than you probably. But please. Stop with the babying."

Sam opened his mouth to protest. And finally nodded. The man did have a point. Usually, when Sam was sick, he _wanted_ to be babied. The back rubs, the fresh, cold glasses of water, hot bowls of the tomato rice soup his mother had made Dean when he had been sick. Though in all honesty, all he really wanted was his brother. Not necessarily the physical contact; though the more sensitive of the two, even Sam wasn't really all that touchy feely. It was the Winchester way, after all. But he _did_ need to know that his brother was there, sitting in the corner with a copy of _Busty Asian Beauties_ or _Popular Mechanics. _He was used to being cared for. And sometimes, he forgot that Dean had always been the caregiver.

And so the mother henning had eased. Not completely stopped, but lessened enough so that Dean no longer bitched.

XXX

After the fourth round of chemo, Sam noticed the ball cap.

At first, only the odd handful of hair could be found on Dean's pillow when we woke up in the morning or from one of his naps. Sam hadn't really noticed, and so Dean had simply avoided the conversation. Sure, he was one good looking dude, at least according to the ladies he had slept with, and those who gave not so subtle glances as he walked by. But the hunter had never really been one for vanity, other than the fact that it made it a lot easier to accommodate his sexual encounters.

What bothered him was the blatant reminder that he was sick.

The morning when he really noticed his hair loss, Dean had stood in the bathroom mirror for over half an hour, staring into the man looking back at him. Only five months earlier the reflection had been that of a hunter, bold, fearless. The man who had looked death in the face and told it "fuck you." But now that man was long gone, a faded memory. Dean sighed, closed his eyes.

From that moment on, he wore the Jayhawks ball cap.

Initially, Sam had said nothing. He knew damn well the significance of the new, very un-Dean like garment; and like his older brother, the sight of it made him heartsick. Before, he had simply looked unwell, nothing that a week or so of bed rest or even a brief stint in a hospital wouldn't fix. But with that one hat, Sam could no longer deny, even with the constant doctor's appointments and therapies, that his brother had cancer. But he knew better than to bring this up to Dean. No doubt the guy was feeling the same. No mention was made of the new accessory. And judging by the grateful grin, Dean was very much relieved.

XXX

The second unplanned knock on Sam's apartment door came one evening about a week after the ball cap incident.

Dean had been having one of his rare good days, the first round of chemo having finished the day before, and Sam and Dean had been watching an old John Wayne western while Jess was at work. For the first time since he had arrived, Dean looked happy, sipping bottled water (but not after bugging Sam for an El Sol, with no success), commenting on how awesome the old westerns really were. ("You know Sammy, at one point I wanted to be a cowboy. Yeah, I know, right? It was sometime after the fireman phase and before the car one.")

"You gonna get that?" Dean called after Sam had headed into the kitchen for a few more snacks. Sam rolled his eyes, secretly glad that his brother was slowly getting back to himself. But he headed to the door, grinning. Probably a neighbour with another casserole. As thoughtful as the gifts were, it bothered Sam to see so many food offerings; for one, he was honestly sick of tuna noodle casserole and homemade mac and cheese. But mostly, it disturbed him. Dean was sick, not dead, and he didn't need the subconscious reminder that his brother's foot could be in the grave.

Sam opened the door, mouth open to say yet another thank you to Miss Eagleton downstairs. And instead greeted by a man he hadn't seen in over two years,

"Hey, Sammy," John Winchester said softly.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: The big confrontation! Thank you minank, SuperVikinggirl, WRATH77, BranchSuper, mb64, LilyBolt, Darth Tornado, GAARA1223, moonlightinparadise, and Spnfan for your recent reviews. :D And thanks to all who have followed, read, and/or added this to your favourites list. Your support is truly overwhelming. Thank you! And I don't own **_**Supernatural,**_** just playing in the sandbox a bit. Enjoy!**

**Ten**

"Hey, Sammy."

Sam Winchester stood at the apartment door, speechless. Because standing before him was his father, looking a little older and more harried since the last time he had seen him. He looked as if he had slept little, eyes tired and rather bloodshot, and surprisingly without the usual fire. In fact, there looked to be concern, and perhaps fear, in his hazel irises. _So the guy actually cares. _The bitter thought seemed to sneak up on him, and Sam quickly pushed it away. The guy had actually listened, even though it had taken almost almost three weeks. The last thing he needed was to pick a fight with the guy who had just gone out of his way to see his ailing son.

And then there was Dean. Sam knew damn well that his brother was going to be pissed. After all, he had just betrayed his brother's confidence by summoning their father against his wishes; he'd hoped that Dean would be in bed, or out and about when John Winchester arrived. But, with Dean only thirty or so feet away, he knew that his not so well thought of plan had potentially backfired.

"Sam? What the hell, man?" Dean's voice called from the living room, immediately followed by silence as he switched off the TV and turned behind him. At the sight of his father standing in the doorway, the man froze. And for the first time in his life, Dean Winchester had been startled into speechlessness.

"Dad?" Sam's voice was hardly above a whisper.

"How you been, son?" The surprisingly gentle sound of his father's voice brought Sam back to reality and he quickly ushered his father inside. "I'm fine, sir." In the living room, Dean had visibly paled. He had not wanted to see his father, not like this. Several different scenarios ran through his mind of how his father had found him, but he knew damn well that his brother had been behind this. From the get go he had told Sam that he hadn't wanted his father to know, that he didn't want him to see just how weak he was. Though he had come up with a bunch of what Sam thought of to be bullshit reasons as to why he didn't want his dad to know of his cancer, the true reason was perfectly clear: _I don't want him to think less of me, to see me like this._ He should have known that Sam would call him anyway. As much as he clashed with John Winchester, Sam had always been more like him. Especially in regards to his stubborn streak.

"Dammit, Sammy," he muttered under his breath.

"Uh, are you thirsty? Do you want something to drink?" Sam nervously ushered his father inside, deliberately avoiding his brother's gaze. John nodded, and then suddenly froze. There, sitting on the couch and with a look of pure surprise, was Dean. The boy he had thought was dying, perhaps already dead. At first, he felt pure relief. His son was alive, and looked relatively well. The relief, however, was short lived and he felt anger boil inside him. Sam had bothered him for this? From the sound of his son's message, it seemed like Dean was on his last legs. And yet, here he was, looking reasonably healthy, and most definitely angry.

"Dad?" Despite his own anger, Dean had somehow managed to keep his voice steady and somewhat calm. "Dean, are you ok? From your brother's message, I thought you'd had a hunting accident. What the fuck are you doing staying with your brother, anyway?"

"I'm fine, dad," Dean muttered through clenched teeth. In the background, Sam listened to the conversation, shoulders slouched. This was it. The conversation he had been hoping to avoid was going on right now. He should have known that his father would take one look at Dean and assume he was alright. Unless he was bleeding, or unconscious, the man would be fine according to John Winchester standards.

"Then why the panicked phone call from your brother?" John felt his voice rising. He couldn't imagine Sam wasting his time if nothing was really wrong, but still... His attention turned to Sam, who was still standing quietly off to one side, looking rather miserable. "I had a lead on the thing that killed your mother," he hissed. "I spent hours driving here, only to find the man I thought was dying alive and well and crashing at your place. You better have a good reason to explain this, Samuel Winchester."

At this, suddenly the fire sparked back in Sam. There was no way his father was going to talk to himoin like that. No fucking way. And he could be just as stubborn, too.

"There it is. I should have known. You care more about the hunt than your own son. Typical."

"I didn't care enough that I dropped the one lead on the thing that killed your mother and hauled ass to California? Jesus Christ, Sam, from the sound of your message, I thought your brother was dying! What the hell did you expect when I see him on the couch eating popcorn and watching TV?!"

"Take one good look at him, Dad, and then tell me just how healthy you think he is."

Throughout the argument, Dean had watched, eyes darting from father to brother. He hated being the centre of the argument; another reason why he had wanted to avoid this very scenario. He had never know a time since after Sam's fifteenth birthday when the two hadn't gone a day without fighting. The last thing he needed right now was his father and brother at each other's throats. "Please, stop," he groaned, but to no avail. The shouting match continued, Sam trying desperately to hold back for Dean's sake, but obviously losing.

"He looks fine to me, Sam."

"Then you're fucking blind!"

"Excuse me?" Voice eerily soft. Dean remembered how he had always used to prefer the screams and yells over that. It meant that John Winchester was at his breaking point. As pissed as he was at Sam for going against his wishes, he couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy. He'd been through this before, and it was definitely no picnic.

"Look, Dad." Sam had began to calm, drawing a few steady breaths. "Don't you see the ball cap? Since when does Dean wear stuff like that? Yeah, he's feeling a bit better than earlier, the chemo is kicking in, but..."

"Wait, son, did you just say...?"

This was it. The moment of truth. Sam looked at his brother, as if asking for permission to continue. Dean closed his eyes, nodding his reluctant approval. The cat was out of the bag now, may as well go all the way. ":Let me tell him," he said softly, and Sam nodded, suddenly choking up. This was really Dean's fight, after all. If he had listened to his brother in the first place, this whole conversation wouldn't be happening, no matter how much he truly believed Dean to be in the wrong about keeping their father in the dark. Sure, it may have prevented this very scenario, but still...

"Dad, I have cancer."

It didn't get any easier admitting it, especially to his father. For a moment, he kept his eyes closed, too frightened to look John Winchester in the eye. How would he react? The silence in the room was unbearable. _Just say something, please. _Dean finally opened his eyes, and was surprised to see his father speechless. The eldest Winchester looked carefully at his son, finally noticed just how ill he really seemed, and then turned to Sam, a look of shame and guilt on his face. "How bad, son?" he finally asked, voice unsteady.

"Known for a bit, now. Just told Sammy a month or so back. Wanted to keep it quiet. Kind of pathetic to see a hunter down for the count over stupid fucking cancer, right?" Dean was rambling, just as he had weeks ago when he had first told his younger brother he might be dying. John, however, wouldn't have any of it. He had always been one to cut to the chase. _Just the facts, ma'am._ The thought of John Winchester as Joe Friday was a ridiculous concept that would have made Dean snicker at any other moment. But not now.

"Answer the question, Dean. How bad?"

Dean once again looked downward, ashamed to admit just how serious his condition was to his father. But it was too late now. No way he could lie about it. Fuck, knowing Sam, he'd spill the beans in an hour or so anyway. "Doc says I'm in stage 3 B or something like that. It's pretty bad. Four B or C or something like that is the worst, so I'm pretty far along. Guess if I gotta get cancer, may as well go all the way, huh?"

"Not funny, Dean." Sam interrupted, and the man sighed. "Such a buzzkill, Sammy," he joked weakly.

"Sam, is this true?"

"Yeah," Sam said softly, and once more he felt the telltale lump forming from beneath his throat. "The doctor thinks that chemo and radiation might help shrink the tumours. But he needs to have a liver transplant, Dean's on the waiting list now, and the treatments are supposed to kind of hold him afloat until he gets it. He's done chemo for the time being, but still needs a few radiation treatments. We have an appointment Monday."

Once again, John Winchester had been stunned into silence. He ran his hands through his thick mass of dark hair, a nervous habit Dean had picked up himself as a boy. "So, he's doing a bit better, right? The treatments are helping?"

"Yeah, they're helping, but he isn't out of the woods, Dad. Stuff like this takes time."

John nodded, looking once more at the young man who had been relatively quiet throughout the entire discussion. Damn if the kid didn't look guilty. Suddenly, Dean looked not like the tough hunter he had raised, but the little boy who had looked up at him in the days shortly after the fire; the boy who was trying so hard to be tough, but really was desperately searching for comfort and security. And once again he wished his Mary were here. Dean needed the love, guidance, promise of safety that only his mother could truly provide. He, John Winchester, could not. He swallowed the lump forming beneath his throat, blinking back the tears that were rapidly trying to form.

"Dad, are you going to stay?" Sam, suddenly sounding very small, like the little boy Dean had taken care of years ago. John wiped his eyes, turned to his youngest. "I can stay a few days, but no later. I really am close to finding what killed your mother... _but,"_ seeing his son open his mouth to protest, "the minute Dean begins to get sick, or when he gets his surgery, you call me, ok?" He gestured for a pen and paper, and scribbled several numbers down. "I got a few new phones. If you can't reach me on the main line, try me on these." Sam accepted the numbers gratefully. "Yessir."

Several minutes later, the apartment was once again quiet. For a moment, Sam just stood there, rather dumbfouded. His father had showed up. Had actually given a damn. Sure, he was going back to the hunt in a day or so, but he had also shown genuine concern for his son. Nearby, Dean looked miserable... and was that a hint of shame on his face? Sam sighed, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty. He had done this to his brother. Just as he was finally starting to feel normal, he had taken away that normalcy. It didn't matter that Sam believed he was right, that John had had the right to know the truth. He had hurt his brother. And at the moment, that was all that mattered.

"Look man, I'm sorry..."

"Just save it Sam, ok?"

"He had the right to know..."

"No, it's fine." Sounding tired. And in a voice that definitely screamed that it most certainly wasn't fine.

"Dean..."

"I said it's fine. I'm tired, Sam. Think I'm just gonna go to bed." And without another word, Dean Winchester headed to his bedroom and closed the door.

XXX

John closed the door to the dingy motel room behind him, dropping his duffel on the floor in exhaustion. But despite how tired he was, the hunter knew that there would be little, if any, sleep that night. His son was sick. Possibly even dying. And he had not even noticed. Wearily, John tossed the keys to his truck on a nearby table and sat on the bed, pulling off his boots mechanically. As he went through the motions of his nighttime routine, his mind raced back to that small apartment, the look of total shock on his youngest's face. Sam had honestly been surprised that he had shown up. The thought disturbed John greatly. Did he honestly think that he cared that little for his son? His own flesh and blood? For a moment, anger once again surged through him. He had done everything he could for his boys in their childhood. Sure, he had not been one to take his boys to ballgames, or family cookouts in the woods. Not once had his boys had the luxury of staying at the same school for an entire year. But he had done his best in a very unnatural situation. How could Sam not see that? But after a while, the anger began to fade. Sam was different. He had never been one to embrace the life, not like his brother. Dean had always been an eager study, more than ready to pick up a sawed-off and head out on his first hunt. And while it worried John immensely, it also made him rather proud. The kid obviously knew what he wanted, and was determined to do all it took to achieve that goal. And while it saddened him that the pair didn't share the same vision of what that goal was, he was just like his old man with that never give up mentality.

And then there was his brother. Sam would do anything for Dean, and vice versa. He had raised both his sons to have each other's backs, should something go wrong during the hunt. He had not intended for the bond to be to the point of being co-dependent; and if he were to admit it, he was rather jealous of the fact that Sam would turn to Dean before his own father. But it pleased John to know that he would not have to worry about one letting down the other.

John sighed, pulled his flask out of his jacket pocket. He hated to leave; wanted to be there every moment of Dean's illness. But Dean seemed to be doing ok for the moment, and if his calculations were correct, the demon was on the verge of ruining the lives of yet another innocent family. He couldn't let them suffer the same fate as his. He swallowed a generous mouthful of whiskey, downing half the flask before finally capping it and slipping it back into his pocket.

That night, he dreamed of young women burning on ceilings. As one young brunette stared down at him, her mouth wide in a silent scream, the room burst into flames. Seconds later, the bedroom vanished, suddenly transformed into a hospital bed, Dean lying still and cold as John looked down, holding his hand. Suddenly, his eyes snap open, revealing a hideous yellow...

John had awakened with a start, heart pounding.

And didn't sleep the remainder of the night.

**Secondary AN: Lighter stuff coming up, I promise. I know the first bit of this story has been very angst filled! Thanks for reading! And reviews are love!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: A little something lighter for a change, considering all the angst lately. I was really in t he mood for something a little fluffier (at least, for my standards, since my regular readers know how I love my angst). Thanks to Darth Tornado, mb64, minank, FallenAngelWolf aka lilysmom, Branch Super, LilyBolt, Spnfan, and a Guest for your recent reviews. And thank you all to those who have read, followed, and/or added this to your favorites. Your support is greatly appreciated. And you know the drill, the boy's ain't mine. Sigh.**

**Eleven**

Dean continued with the silent treatment most of the next day. Initially, Sam accepted this, and made a point to avoid his older brother, while Jessica watched the entire performance from the corner, eyebrows raised in confusion but mouth wisely closed. She had always known that Sam's family had been dysfunctional, and upon hearing the story from him later that night, she had slowly begun to understand. He and Dean had been raised by an absent father, she had always known that, and that for some reason, his job tended to keep him away from his sons. But she had never really believed just how serious the estrangement had been until hearing about John Winchester's sudden visit and subsequent departure. Even more shocking was Dean's reaction to his father's appearance. Sam had warned her of this possibility when she had first suggested he call him, but had never believed that the man whom was supposedly so amazing in her boyfriend's eyes could be such a stubborn... well, if she were to be honest with herself, _sulker._

"It's just his way," Sam explained to Jessica patiently that morning, in one of their rare moments of privacy (though Dean's current attitude was making this considerably easier). "He's hurt. My dad's an ex-marine, raised us kind of strict. 'Yessir,' and 'yes ma'am' kind of thing. Dean tried really hard to make him proud, to the point where he kinda, well..." Sam trailed off, trying to think of how to explain without divulging the dreaded family secret.

"Kind of like a soldier?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed, inwardly sighing with relief. She got it. Of course she did.

"My uncle Phil was in the war, too," Jess explained. "He was a colonel. My cousins were raised pretty much the same way. Not to the extent I see in Dean, but my cousin Chris would always try to be like his dad. And when he couldn't live up to that..."

"...he'd feel kind of like a failure?"

Jessica gently squeezed Sam's shoulder, smiling sadly. "Yeah. Like I said, he wasn't to the same extent as Dean, but pretty close."

"So you understand why Dean is so moody now, right?" Jess nodded, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her eyes. "Yeah. I do." She gently kissed Sam on the forehead. "When he snaps out of it, let him know I'll be making a nice, homemade apple pie for him. That should do the trick."

"Yup," Sam agreed with a smile. "I think that just might."

XXX

By mid afternoon, Dean, still in his funk, had gone out for a ride in the Impala, having felt (at least, physically) good for the first time since arriving at Sam's doorstep. Initially, Sam hadn't been worried. His brother had always used the Impala as a form of refuge for years, either to tinker with it, go for a drive, or sometimes just sit behind the wheel and crank the classic rock. And Sam had to admit that the car was a safe haven for him as well. Living from motel to motel, the old Chevy had been like home to the boys, more than any house with the proverbial white picket fence.

When, by nightfall, Dean still hadn't come home, panic began to build in the taller hunter's chest. Had he passed out and totalled the Impala, lying in a ditch on the side of the road? Had he been stupid and gotten himself drunk, despite his cancer? Had he gotten into a bar fight? Scenario after scenario flashed through his mind as he paced the apartment, wringing his hands and debating whether to call the police, or even Bobby. At one point, Jess begged he sit down, his pacing making her nervous. Sam complied, but was unable to sit still, legs bouncing with a nervous energy he hadn't felt in years. Just as he was about to head out the door and look himself, he heard the rustling of a key in the lock.

Dean, armed with a case of beer and a paper bag, came in, juggling with his purchases and fumbling with his keys as he tried to shut the door behind him. At first, Sam was too relieved to comment on the case of Miller in his hand. "Hey," he said softly, helping to close the door behind him and reach for the paper bag. Once Dean had been settled on the couch, however, he eyed the alcohol with a critical expression.

"Relax," Dean replied calmly. "The Millers are yours. The stuff in the bag is mine. Non-alcoholic. Probably tastes like shit, but hey. Better than nothing." Sam relaxed, reaching for the drinks and emptying the case in the refrigerator. "Better be," he called over his shoulder. But there was no malice in his voice. Considering how sick his brother was, Sam trusted that Dean was following his no beer diet.

"Hey, Sam, why don't you leave one out? It's pretty nice outside, and Baby hasn't been on a good run in a while..."

Sam knew exactly what his brother had in mind. Pulling out a couple bottles and Dean's non-alcoholic option, he turned to Jess, who nodded in agreement. "Have fun, boys," she smiled, reaching in one of the kitchen drawers for her grandmother's cookbook. "When you get back, there just might be an apple pie waiting for you."

XXX

Sam guided Dean to a remote area about half an hour past the city limits and Dean parked the Impala on the side of the road. Above, a pale moon peaked from beneath the clouds. It was slightly cloudy, but a fair amount of stars could still be seen, peppering the velvet sky. For several minutes the brother sat on the hood of the car, drinking in silence and gazing at the spectacle in the heavens above. Sam was fine with that. He knew that this was his brother's way of saying that they were ok. Not necessarily all forgiven and forgotten, but that they were good. Instead of trying to convince Dean to talk, he simply sipped his beer, occasionally sneaking piteous glances as his brother tried to hide the faces of disgust at his booze free alternative.

"Wow, this shit sucks," Dean finally broke the silence, swallowing another mouthful and grimacing as it went down. "Not sure what's gonna kill me first, the cancer or this crap."

"Not funny, Dean." But the older brother couldn't help but notice the faint smile on the younger's face."

"You have no sense of humour, Sammy." Dean finished his "beer", tossing the empty in the abandoned paper bag.

"Nah, I'm a regular George Carlin." Dean chuckled at that one, patting Sam playfully on the shoulder. "Debatable, little bro."

Again, the brothers lapsed into silence, Sam picking nervously at the wrapper on his beer bottle. After a few minutes, he looked up, nervously. "Look man, I..."

"We're good." Dean's voice was abrupt, but with none of the anger from earlier. He was hurt, no denying that. And he still wished that Sam hadn't called their father. But he got it. If Sam had been the one dying, and if no one had told him... He shuddered slightly at the thought, eyes still gazing upwards. For several minutes, the brothers sat, just watching the stars, as they had as kids. As they had done a month or so earlier, when Dean had actually believed that death was a potential reality they would face. But this time, there would be no talk of stars or dying, even though the nagging thought that he _could_ die still tugged at his brain. It wasn't so bad during the day, when he had the distractions of helping around the house and spending time with Sam. But at night, as he lay awake (since he no longer had the luxury of using Hunter's Helper as a sleeping aid) thinking of the what-ifs. He hadn't been lying when he had told himself that he wanted to fight. He truly did, if not for himself, then for the kid sitting right next to him. But that didn't make the nightmares any less frightening. He didn't want to die; not as a result of a hunting accident, and definitely not of cancer. Dean sighed, stole a quick glance at Sam, who was finishing his beer and gazing off into the distance. And the once peaceful, happy moment was suddenly gone.

"Hey," Dean slapped on one of his usual false grins. "I heard your lady can make a mean apple pie..."

XXX

As promised, the warm aroma of apples and cinnamon wafted from the apartment when Sam and Dean returned home an hour later. Jess was flipping through the phone book, scanning the Yellow Pages. "I may make a mean pie," she grinned, "but I'm not Martha Stewart. How does Thai sound?"

"Make that pizza and you've got yourself a deal," Dean winked and Jess rolled her eyes. "You don't like Thai? You're deprived, Dean Winchester."

"What can I say? A dude likes his bacon cheeseburger pizza."

"Thai's great, hun," Sam interjected, kissing his girlfriend softly on the lips. "But maybe we can pick up a real bacon cheeseburger for the glutton over there." But Sam was secretly happy to oblige. His brother hadn't had an appetite in months. Seeing Dean's eyes light up at the prospect of his favourite meal was enough to make Sam want to buy out the entire restaurant.

"Make that heavy on the onions," Dean agreed, tossing Sam the keys to the Impala. "You know the place more than me, you're on food duty."

"Dean, I'm always on food duty."

"Not for a few years you're not," Dean retorted. "I promise, I'll behave." Winking at Jessica.

"Good luck, Winchester." But Jess was smiling. _Damn, you picked a fine woman,_ Dean thought. Beautiful, an amazing cook, and a great sense of humour. She actually kind of reminded him of his mother. Dean felt a pang of sadness, which he immediately pushed aside. Not now. Mentally he steered the conversation elsewhere. "Man can try, right?"

"Yeah, right."

When Sam returned a half our later, he was greeted with laughter in the kitchen as his brother and girlfriend sat at the table. Jess was giggling while Dean shared with gusto a rather embarrassing story from his childhood.

"So there's Sammy, running around Bobby's place buck naked, chasing Rummy around for his swim trunks." Sam shuddered at the memory. He had been only about seven or eight at the time. Dean had dared him to go swimming in the nearby pond without his trunks, hiding the garment while the kid was distracted. What Dean hadn't banked on was Bobby's dog, Rumsfeld, confiscating the trunks and going on his merry way. Dean had found this to be hilarious. Sam? Not so much.

"Jesus, Dean, did it have to be that one?" Sam moaned, face flushed with embarrassment.

"Not my fault your lovely lady wanted to hear stories from when you were a kid." Beside him, Jess once more burst into a round of giggles.

"I'm glad you found my childhood so entertaining," Sam said wryly. "Now why don't we eat before this stuff gets cold, ok?"

Dean grinned mischievously, but mercifully helped Sam to get their late supper dished. Later, watching late night TV, Sam felt genuinely happy for the first time since Dean's unexpected arrival in June. It just seemed so right; his girlfriend and brother in the same room, laughing and joking about the old days like any normal family. _This _was what he had always wanted. He smiled, popping open the top on his Coke.

The white elephant that was Dean's cancer had finally left the room. At least for the time being.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thank you BranchSuper, GAARA12223, mb64, SuperVikinggirl, ncsupnatfan, Darth Tornado, Spnfan and LilyBolt for your reviews. :) And no, I don't own the boys. More angst after my fluff. Enjoy!**

**Twelve**

"So, how's it looking, doc?"

Dean seemed almost casual as he sat before Dr. Ryder, drumming one hand on her desk. Sam glanced at his brother, and would have commented on the seemingly rude behaviour had he not known that the incessant rapping and tapping was his way of steadying his nerves. As usual, his older brother was trying to act cool and collected, but internally was no doubt freaking out. And so the drumming continued. Evidently, Dr. Ryder had figured this out for herself, and said nothing, despite the fact that the actions were no doubt driving her up the wall.

It had been a week since John Winchester's sudden appearance, and the brothers were waiting rather anxiously for the results of Dean's first round of chemo and radiation. And while the eldest Winchester was only pretending to act calm, Sam was visibly a nervous wreck. At one point, Dean had pulled him aside. "Calm down, dude. You're gonna give yourself an ulcer or something." Sam had nodded in agreement, but had difficulty in following his brother's advice. How could be possibly calm when there was a good chance that all this treatment had been for nothing? That Dean had endured weeks of pain, exhaustion and nausea only to hear that it had accomplished shit all? Sam sighed, began bouncing his knees nervously in the chair until Dean gave him a not so subtle kick from behind the desk. _Not now, Sam,_ he told his brother silently.

"The good news is that Dean's tumours have not grown since the treatment," Ryder began, ignoring the brothers and their rather obvious display before her. "The cancer has not advanced since our last visit. While I can't guarantee that there will be no further spreading, it seems that it has stabilized. Unfortunately, there is little shrinking, either. I recommend that Dean continue with the chemotherapy/radiation regimen, and see how that goes. In the meantime, Dean is now currently on the list for organ transplantation."

"So more of the good stuff,right?" Dean leaned back in his chair, massaging his temple tiredly. "Well, never was into moderation, anyway." Beside him, Sam was too upset to comment on his brother's lame attempt at humour. "When should he start up again, doc?"

"I'd like to see Dean resume treatments by Monday morning at eight. This will give him the weekend to prepare. Remember to eat as much as you can beforehand. You won't have much of an apatite once we start up. I know it's hard, but during the last session, Dean, you hadn't eaten as much as I would have liked. It is difficult when you are so nauseous, but proper nutrition during treatment is important. I'll write a prescription for you for more anti-nausea pills. Sam tells me that you were eating a little better while taking them."

"Thanks doc," Dean mumbled, accepting the slip of paper and heading out of the office. Sam thanked Dr. Ryder weakly, and followed his brother out of the office. They walked in silence, not speaking until Dean was behind the wheel of the Impala, Sam in his usual spot riding shotgun. As Dean eased the car into traffic,Sam finally spoke up.

"So, guess it's back to the drawing board, right?"

Nothing in response.

"Look, I know it's tough, but we'll get through it,man. I mean, we did it before, right? The doc said the tumours weren't shrinking, but they weren't getting any larger. That's a good sign." Dean continued to ignore his brother, and after a few minutes, Sam gave up. They continued the drive to the apartment in silence, the first uncomfortable one since before he had left for Stanford. When at last they arrived, Dean remained behind the wheel, staring ahead. "I need to be alone."

"Dean..."

"Sam. I'll be back. I just need to think, ok?"

Sam looked at his brother for a moment, hurt. He knew Dean was always one to run from his problems. Not really in the physical sense, as Sam had when he had disappeared to Flagstaff at sixteen, or when he had run off to Stanford, but emotionally. He'd go for a walk, or a drive. When he could, he'd chase away the problems with Jim Beam or Jack Daniels. But after a moment, he nodded. "I'm here when you're ready," he said simply before closing the car door behind him. Dean watched for a moment as his freakishly tall brother walked alone into the apartment building. But as tall as he was, he still looked like the little boy he had taken care of sometimes. The boy who loved his Superman jammies and bowls of _Lucky Charms_ for breakfast. The kid who'd cuddled next to him with his worn stuffy as Dean read Sam's favourite storybooks: _Goodnight, Moon,_ and _Guess How Much I Love You._ Dean's eyes misted at the thought of the pair sitting on Sam's bed (_"I love you as high as I can reach!"_). Sam had loved that one, no doubt seeing the parallels between Big Nut Brown Hare and Little Nut Brown Hare and the brothers themselves. It was through that book that Dean could actually show how much he loved Sam without outright saying it.

And it was because of love that Dean knew what he had to do.

It took him several hours driving around the city for Dean to finally gain the courage he needed. He couldn't stay. He knew that even with the help of good samaritans and fundraising, the medical expenses were piling up. The first round of chemo alone had cost a small fortune. And now he had to do it again. The sickness, the exhaustion... and worse, the financial burden on his brother and Jessica. He had meant it when he had told Sam he hadn't wanted to die; he knew that it would kill his brother just as much as the cancer could him. But he couldn't hold his brother back, either. Sam would now be able to finish his studies in the fall; could save his paycheques to help cover tuition costs for law school rather than to save his own ass. He hadn't been lying when he'd told Sam that he'd brought this whole mess on himself with his excessive drinking. Dean wasn't a religious man, but he was certain that if there was such a thing as karma, it was definitely biting him in the ass.

Near one AM, after driving around the city for hours (and ignoring Sam's many missed calls) Dean finally pulled up in front of the place he had called home for the summer. The apartment was empty, Sam and Jess no doubt searching for him. Dean knew he didn't have much time. He knew that this was more than likely signing his death sentence, but he didn't care. He was doing this for Sammy. Quickly he gathered his things from his room, heart heavy. And on the way out, he gently placed the folded slip of paper on the counter, Sam's name scrawled across the front. "I'm sorry,Sammy," he said softly, closing the apartment door behind him.

XXX

Sam had been frantic.

Dean was known to go out and blow off steam for a few hours; he'd done that since he was old enough to remember. But usually, by the evening, he was back, reasonably calm and ready to move on. But as the sun began to set and still no Dean, the younger Winchester began to panic. Had Dean wrecked his car? Was he hurt, dying?

Had the stupid sonofabitch left?

Though he didn't want to admit it, Sam was afraid that his stubborn older brother _had_ left. Sure, he'd given him the speech on how he wasn't ready to give up yet, but that had probably been bullshit to keep Sam happy until he skipped out of town. He debated calling his father, who had already left town a few days earlier, but upon remembering the fiasco of before, decided against it. He wouldn't call John Winchester unless Dean was taking a turn for the worse, or had been approved for a new liver. He tried calling his brother, but wasn't surprised when the phone remained unanswered. Sam left messages regardless, hoping his brother would come to his senses.

Finally, at two in the morning, Sam and Jess returned home. He knew that he would be getting no sleep that night, despite Jessica's insistence that he try, but figured that he could at least do a little research as to where Dean might have headed. Maybe he had returned by now. But he wasn't surprised when the pair returned to an empty apartment.

"Maybe we should call the police," Jess suggested and Sam nodded absently. He had not wanted the police involved; Dean had probably just ran off. And with his brother's record, who knew what could happen upon filing a simple missing persons report? But at the moment, Sam was too worried to really care about the repercussions. A missing Dean would no doubt skip out on his next round of chemo. Not an option. Jess gave him a reassuring hug as Sam reached for his cell to make the dreaded phone call. Only for his fingers to brush against the paper beside it.

"Sam, what is it?" But Sam ignored her, wordlessly opening the slip of paper and beginning to read.

_I'm sorry, Sammy. I have to do this. You shouldn't have to be cleaning up my messes. Go back to school, be a lawyer, marry that girl. Damn, Sam, she's smoking. But she's a wonderful woman, too. You deserve to be happy, Sam. This is what you wanted. Don't make me drag you down. Tell everyone I'm sorry and not to bother with anymore fundraisers and shit. Never liked charity anyways. See you around, Sam._

_Dean._

But it was the last line that nearly killed him. A line he had forgotten about, one he hadn't seen since he was a five-year-old.

_To the moon and back._

"Sam, are you ok?" Shaking his head, Sam set the note down, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "No, not really," he whispered. Jessica watched sympathetically as Sam sat down, burrying his head in his hands. "Fuck you, Dean," he moaned. His body began to shake as slowly the young man began to cry, gently at first, followed by a torrent. How many times had he told his brother that he wasn't a grunt? That he wasn't some useless moocher taking advantage of him? Christ, how could he possibly believe that his dying would be a better alternative to missing school? And that final line at the end, the one from his favourite story book as a child. "I love you to the moon and back," Big Nut Brown Hare had said to the sleeping little rabbit. That line had hurt more than the rest of the note. Because Dean thought that he was leaving Sam out of love. To protect him from the financial burden of medical expenses and from being held back in his studies. To hell with money and school, though. Those were nothing compared to his brother.

He sat there in that uncomfortable chair, crying as Jessica did her best to comfort him. And when at last dawn broke, the tears spent, Sam fell into a restless sleep, haunted by his brother, hospitals, and nut brown hares.


	13. Chapter 13

**Huge thank you to WRATH77, Alienmom, LilyBolt, AndSoIWrite, mb64, GAARA12223, BranchSuper, Darth Tornado, SuperVikinggirl, and ncsupnatfan for your recent reviews for chapter twelve. And thank you to all who have followed, added this to your favorites list, or just took the time to read. I really appreciate it! Enjoy!**

**Thirteen**

By mid afternoon, Sam had awakened to a stiff neck and the beginnings of a headache, but mercifully was in his own bed. Sometime as he slept, Jess had guided him there, though he never remembered. By this time, the sun was about to sink beneath the horizon, and Dean had been gone for twenty-four hours.

Dean. Sam bolted in bed, the thought of his missing brother startling him into wakefulness. Immediately he felt shame for having lost his cool last night, the guilt overwhelming him. _I should have never treated him like a kid; I should have known he'd hate the whole charity thing..._

_I should have never called Dad..._

The what-ifs continued to taunt him, mocking him every second of every minute, from the minute Dean had first dropped him off to the moment of weakness when he had broken down in front of Jess. But now was not the time for what-ifs. He had to find Dean, and fast. Knowing his brother, he'd probably make his way to Bobby's. Not with the intention of admitting his secret, of course, but to be somewhere where he could just be _Dean._ To work on cars, help with the hunt, to just die in peace. But Sam wasn't about to let that happen. He had walked out on family before, and while he never regretted meeting Jessica and the life as a college student, the thought of abandoning his brother had haunted him.

"No," Sam muttered,his voice strong for the first time in weeks. "Not this time."

XXX

All night Dean drove,stopping only once for gas and something to eat. Not that he was particularly hungry, but as much as he didn't want to burden Sam, he didn't want to punch his one way ticket to the grave prematurely, either. It was true that he didn't want to be a burden to his kid brother; and that he felt that with Jessica, Sam might have an easier time coping should he take a turn for the worse. But a small voice in the back of his mind was screaming at him, telling him that if the roles were reversed, _nothing_ would be of comfort to Dean.

By dawn, Dean finally pulled into the lot of a shady looking motel, similar to the many he and Sam had lived in as children. He was exhausted; twice he had feared that he would fall asleep at the wheel, and had been forced to roll down the windows and crank the volume on his stereo to a level above even Dean Winchester standards. When at last he had settled into his room, he almost immediately fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

XXX

It was well after dark when Sam finally dialled the number to Singer Salvage.

It had been years since either Sam nor Dean had seen their father figure, the last time being when Sam was still too young to tag along on hunts. In fact, he had been eleven the last time he had ever spent any significant amount of time at Bobby's place. He still loved the man like a father, but had not wanted the constant reminder of the life he so desperately wanted to give up. Fortunately, Bobby seemed to understand, and had said nothing of the lack of communication, much to Sam's relief. It had been hard enough dealing with the guilt of leaving his father and brother.

But now, Sam was sitting in the kitchen, cell in hand, about to dial a number he had never forgotten despite the fact he had not in years. Drawing a deep breath to steady his nerves, the former hunter punched the numbers and pressed send, waiting anxiously as the line rang steadily.

"Yeah?"

Gruff and to the point, as always. Sam couldn't help but smile faintly at the familiarity. "Hey, Bobby, it's Sam," he began softly, and immediately the hunter's tone changed. "Sam? Winchester? It's good to hear from you, boy!" Bobby greeted fondly. "Been a long time. Last I saw you yer daddy left you to go hunt a Rugaru."

"Yeah, it has been a while."

It wasn't long before the elder man noticed how tired the boy's voice on the other end of the line was, and immediately his voice once again grew stern. "There's a reason why yer callin' me, isn't there, Sam? What is it? That old man of yours do something stupid again?"

"No, it isn't Dad..." Sam swallowed. How was he supposed to tell Bobby about Dean, without sharing his secret? He had already betrayed his brother's confidence, and while that had ultimately worked out, he wasn't sure if Dean would forgive him for breaching his trust a second time. But he also needed to know where he was. And while he had a good idea Dean was making his way to Sioux Falls, he still needed to be one hundred percent sure. And Bobby would need to be on the look out. Besides,he had hunter connections who could keep him posted about his brother's whereabouts.

"Well, who is it?... Damn it to hell. It's yer brother, isn't it? The idgit, what did he do this time?"

"Well, he was having some..., er, he wasn't feeling like himself, and wanted to spend some time with me in California, and the stubborn ass decided to run off." There. He hadn't exactly lied. Bobby paused, and Sam could sense that the older man was mentally calling bullshit. But fortunately, he didn't bring this up. "So you think he's makin' a beeline to my place."

"Yeah. Pretty much. If he does, do you mind giving me a call?" _Or maybe talk some sense into him. That'd be fine, too._

Bobby sighed; the sound of rummaging and rustling from the other end of the line hinted that the man was looking for some paper and something to write with, and Sam relaxed, slightly. "Sure, Sam. Give me yer number and I'll call when he gets here."

"Thanks, Bobby." With a sigh, Sam disconnected the call and gently sat the phone on the table. He tried Dean's cell again, and wasn't surprised when there was no answer."Damn it, Dean," he muttered, staring at the phone as if daring it to ring. And when it didn't, he pocketed it, scribbled a quick note to Jess, and headed out the door. Maybe Dean didn't want to be found, but that wasn't going to stop him from trying.

XXX

Dean was awakened around four the next afternoon by the sound of the phone ringing. Groaning at the interruption of sleep, he reached blindly for the phone, bitching the entire time about the interruption. He had a feeling it was going to be Sam on the other end of the line; he'd had several missed calls by the kid, averaging at least four an hour, since he had first left his place. _I'll give him one thing, he don't know when to quit._

Finally, after several rings, Dean finally managed to grasp the ringing device and answer it, voice still groggy from sleep. "Hello?"

"What the hell is wrong with you boy?"

Bobby. Dean sighed. He should have known Sam would try to call him. If he spilled the beans about his cancer though, he would be in for a lot of shit, though, brother or not.

"Nice to hear you too, Bobby."

"Cut the crap, Dean. I just got a call not ten minutes ago from yer brother, just about having a fit 'cause he didn't know where you were. Said somethin' about you dropping for a visit and then just up and leaving. That true, boy?"

Good. So Sam hadn't said anything. Yet.

"Guess I couldn't handle all that studying and stuff. The kid is a Geek Boy."

"Dean..."

Dean sighed. He hadn't wanted to say anything, but knowing Bobby, he'd figure it out soon enough. The man was a hunter, for godsakes. Nothing got past Bobby Singer. "Look, man, it's a long story," he began, a last ditch effort at avoiding the conversation.

"I'm all ears."

Dean hesitated, drew a shaky breath. This was it. The third time since June he'd be admitting his weakness. It wasn't that Bobby would think any less of him; the man had always thought of him and Sam as his own, the sons he'd never had. It was the little things: passing off jobs to other hunters; insisting on rest; the sympathy. He was Dean fucking Winchester, son of one of the best hunters out there, not some weakling sitting at home being coddled like a newborn baby. But the man did have the right to know. At least, no doubt Sam thought that way.

"I have cancer, Bobby." Why did it never get any easier to say that dreaded "c" word?

Silence at the other end of the line. Then: "Does yer daddy know?"

"Yeah, Sam told him a few weeks back."

"Jesus." The fire had left the older hunter's voice. "How bad is it boy?"

Silence.

"_How bad?"_ By now Bobby, barely able to control his emotions, was nearly shouting. Dean sighed. "Somewhere in stage three. Liver cancer. Was supposed to go to chemo Monday..."

"Let me guess. You didn't want to burden yer brother." Dean nodded. "Yeah," he admitted softly. "Look, Bobby, I made my bed. I'm the one who should have to deal with it, not Sammy. He shouldn't have to worry about this shit. He has a girlfriend. Get the idea he's thinking of proposing or something. He's on his way to being a lawyer. He wanted out, and I had to go and fuck it up on him. At least he's got a life ahead of him."

"And you don't?!"

"My life is hunting, Bobby. And I can't do that anymore, in case you haven't noticed."

"My god, boy, do you really think that little of yourself?" Bobby's voice was rising by the minute, and Dean cringed. He had expected the Bobby Singer pep talk. He'd had endured enough of them growing up. "Well, suck it up, princess! You got cancer. It sucks, yeah, I get it. You need to take some time off. But there's no way in hell I'm gonna sit here and listen to a pity party. Do you honestly think Sam is gonna want you to kick the bucket so he can get married and have an apple pie life? 'Cause if you do you really are stupid, boy. That kid worshipped the ground you walked on as a kid. Still does. And the last thing he needs is for his hero to just sit there and give up."

"Bobby..."

"And before you say anything, skipping out on yer treatment is just the same as giving up to me. If it's money yer worried about, let me help. I've got some cash saved up."

"And that's why I didn't want to tell you," Dean sighed in frustration. "You shouldn't have to pay for this. You've got enough shit to worry about."

Bobby was silent a moment, gathering his emotions in check, and Dean knew what he was about to say would likely be hard as hell. Fuck, he knew that feeling all too well. "Look, Dean, you and Sam, they're all the family I have left. After Karen died..." He paused, as if gathering the courage to continue. "Well, I didn't know what I was gonna do. Then John dropped off these two snot nosed little kids at my place..."

There was an awkward silence at the other end of the line. Then:

"Just call yer damn brother, you idgit."

And the line went dead.


	14. Chapter 14

**Fourteen**

The evening was a picture perfect: brilliant colours from the setting sun blanketing Palo Alto like a warm embrace; a warm, gentle west wind coming in from the Pacific. The university town was surprisingly busy, a few early students arriving to settle into their new lives as college students before the semester officially began. Sam should have been among them, preparing for his final year as an undergraduate. Fees to pay, orientation days, class schedules. But none of those, events which had been extremely important only a few months earlier, mattered to him. A law degree was a thing of the past; or at least, something which would have to be postponed. But now, all that mattered was Dean. A man who should be with him, but instead was god knows where. It mattered not that Sam truly believed he was on his way to South Dakota. What _was_ important was that his stubborn pain in the ass older brother was basically signing his death warrant by skipping out on his scheduled chemo sessions. And that was unacceptable. And so he continued to make phone calls, scouring hospitals and bars he and Jess had already checked the night before, praying that he would find Dean alive.

The phone in Sam's back pocket began to vibrate, and he pulled it out, thinking that perhaps Bobby, or Caleb, or even Pastor Jim, had found out something. And so he was shocked to find a familiar name on the caller ID. Dean. An immense relief overwhelmed Sam as he answered. For once, it seemed that Dean had come to his senses. Thank God for Bobby, he thought.

"Dean? Where are you, man?" Sam tried to sound calm, but was finding that keeping his emotions in check was proving to be damn near impossible.

"Hello to you too," Dean replied in his usual snark; Sam noticed just how tired he sounded. His illness, on top of the god knows how many hours of driving, were taking its toll.

"What the hell, Dean? Care to explain what that was about?"

"Jeez, dude, you should be lucky I'm calling you. Almost decided against it."

Sam sighed, willed himself to calm. It was true. Though no doubt Bobby had, as hoped, called and given his brother one of his notorious pep talks. Probably put the fear of God into the guy. "Sorry. I was just...you know."

"Yeah, I know. Look, Sammy, I..." Dean paused, struggling to control his emotions. Dean Winchester had never been one to open up before anyone, especially his younger brother. Instead, he tended to push everything down, hiding under booze and women. But now, he couldn't even indulge in the comfort of alcohol. And now he was on the brink of a break down. Something he never wanted his little brother to witness. Sam seemed to sense this, his voice comforting on the other end of the line. "I know, Dean," he said softly. "But you need to come back, ok? Because..." _Because I need you. Because I can't bear to think of you dying alone in some shitty motel room. Because you're my big brother and I love you more than you truly understand. To the moon and back, Dean. _Words Sam so desperately wanted to say, and just couldn't. Not when he had never heard anyone other than Jessica, not even his father, say "I love you." Not that he needed to hear it, of course. His father had shown it by the way he would pat him affectionately on the back, or even teach him and his brother the skills needed to hunt, no matter how much he believed otherwise. Dean had shown his love for his kid brother by sacrificing the last bowl of a favourite cereal, or by starving himself just so that he wouldn't have to go to bed hungry. So why was it so goddamned hard to just tell Dean how he felt?

But Sam needn't have worried. Dean understood the message loud and clear. Swallowing the lump forming beneath his throat, he continued. "I know, Sammy. I'll be in town sometime tomorrow. Jess can make another of those awesome pies and we can just pretend this whole thing never happened. I know this is important to you, so I'll stick with the chemo. I still think you shouldn't be giving up your schooling, but if this is what you want..."

"Yeah, Dean. This is what I want."

"Then, fine. Doesn't mean I have to like it though. And when this shit's over with, you're taking me out to get shitfaced. I can't remember the last time I've had a beer."

"So you can totally kill your liver? Kinda defeating the purpose here."

"Yeah..." Dean trailed off, staring ahead into the approaching darkness. A few light drops of rain pattered gently on the windshield. "Anyway, I figured I'll be in Cali by two, three this morning. Now go and get some sleep. Knowing you, you're not at home getting laid by that super hot girl of yours. Which you should totally be doing."

"Dean..."

"Oh, Sammy, you're such a prude. Don't wait up, ok?"

"Yeah, sure." But both brothers knew damn well that there would be no sleep for the younger Winchester that night.

XXX

Jess had been initially relieved to hear that Dean was fine (or, at last as well as he could be considering the circumstances), but rather annoyed as well. Not so much regarding his leaving for financial reasons; she understood, and respected the fact that her brother-in-law would not wish to be a financial burden to her and Sam. But Jessica Moore could be as protective of Sam as Dean, and had not been thrilled over the worry he had caused her boyfriend (and herself, if she were to be honest), no matter how pure his intentions had been.

"I get it, I really do. He's not used to being taken care of. But I just don't get why he'd worry you like that: worry _us." _ Sam smiled faintly at that statement. "What?" Jess retorted, rather perturbed at the young man's reaction.

"You said 'us'. You think of him as part of the family, aren't you?"

"Of course I do, Sam. He's your brother. Not to mention the guy kind of grows on you, even though he is a kind of..."

"Pain in the ass?"

"Well, yeah," Jess admitted, smiling herself now. "But that still doesn't justify his actions, or make me any less pissed. He hurt you, Sam, even if it wasn't intentional."

"Well, I hurt him, too." The memories of that night he had left for Stanford flashed before him and Sam sighed wistfully. "I don't regret coming here. I'd have never met you if I hadn't. But the look on Dean's face when I told him I was going... it was pretty awful, Jess. But I still got the care packages, the bundles of cash on my birthday. So yeah, he may be kinda unorthodox, but don't ever doubt that whatever he was doing wasn't for me. And you're right, his logic was kinda messed up, but he was only thinking of what was best for me."

"I know," Jess answered softly, gently kissing Sam on the shoulder. "And you're right, I do think of him as a brother."

"That's all I could ever ask for," Sam smiled, reciprocating with a tender kiss on her lips. And he felt his heart warm even further when a few hours before dawn, when Dean finally walked into the apartment, she pulled the ailing man in for a hug. "I know you're not the touchy feely type," she told him, "but after that stunt, you're gonna get a hug and you're not gonna bitch about it, got it?" Dean nodded, a bit uncomfortable by the awkwardness of the situation, but allowing himself to be embraced regardless. But he couldn't resit a joke. "Been hanging around Samantha a bit too long, huh?"

To which Jessica simply replied: "Shut up."

XXX

Dean never skipped out on any of his treatments since that weekend. Despite Sam's defence of his brother to Jessica, he had been truly frustrated at his brother's behaviour. Knowing he had already gotten an earful from Bobby, the younger sibling didn't say too much. The issue had been dropped, like practically everything else in the Winchester file of Messed Up Shit. Dean had been tempted to skip out again the day Sam headed to the Stanford campus to withdraw from the semester. This was not what he had intended; the kid was supposed to be something other than a fucking hunter. But one look from Jess (who had not forgotten how his earlier stunt had caused Sam so much worry) was enough to change his mind. Jessica Moore was not one to mess around with, he had established that much not long after moving in. And he admired that about her. Made him hopeful that should the unthinkable happen, Sam would be with someone who would know how to knock some sense into his kid brother.

The community continued to offer their support, helping to alleviate the financial burden. Dean was not one to really want to attend any functions planned for his benefit. "I fucking hate charity, Sam," he grumbled when his younger brother insisted that they attend the latest.

"Yeah, and if you keep skipping out on them, people might start to think something's up and that we're pulling a fast one," Sam argued. "Besides, it's only for an hour or so. And it's a swimsuit competition. Even you can't say no to that one."

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Dean winked. But he still looked rather uncomfortable as he settled in his seat in the front row. In all his twenty-six years, he had never felt so humiliated. He never wanted the attention, unless it was from a hot young lady wanting to spend the night with him. To hear his name called by the MC was enough to make the former hunter want to shrink into his chair in embarrassment. It was the first time he had ever been relieved to leave an event featuring gorgeous young women dressed only in bikinis.

XXX

And so the hardest battle of Dean Winchester's life continued. The second round of chemo and radiation had done little to stall the growth of the cancer. "Dean's body is no longer responding to the treatment," Dr. Ryder told the brothers following the gruelling session. "In order to prevent it from spreading, he needs to have his liver transplanted immediately." She turned to Dean, a look of genuine sadness in her eyes. "We think it is of your best interest to be hospitalized. We can monitor the state of the illness easier from here. Test results are detecting early signs of liver failure as well. Fortunately, you are on the top of the list for a new liver. Our goal now is to try to keep the disease stable enough so that there will be less of a chance of rejection once it has been transplanted." The kindly doctor closed her file, turning from one brother to the other. "I'll get the paperwork ready. We should have you admitted within an hour. I'm very sorry."

Sam stood, dumbfounded, as he listened to the doctor's speech. Dean's liver was failing. The chemo wasn't working. He needed to be hospitalized. He felt his legs buckle beneath him, and Dean reached out to steady his younger brother. "It's no big deal," he told him, knowing that his lies were doing nothing to provide comfort. "We've been through worse, right?" Sam nodded weakly, allowing himself to be led to a nearby chair. But Dean had never been through this. And as the pair sat side by side in the examination room, Sam, the one who had believed every single promise his brother had made, began to fear that Dean would not live to see the snow fall.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Not sure if I made the right choice with this little sidebar, but I'm hoping I did. Thank you WRATH77, mb64, CBloom2, Trucklady53, Darth Tornado, LilyBolt, babyreaper, ncsupnatfan, SuperVikinggirl, BranchSuper, LeeMarieJack, and fallingangelwolf, aka lilysmom for your recent reviews of the last two chapters. I really appreciate your awesome support! And as always, I don't own the boys, reluctantly. All credit goes to Kripke and co.**

**Fifteen**

The signs had been pointing to northern Maine for a while now. The usual clues: cattle mutilation; freak electrical storms; other weather anomalies. An EF4 tornado, unheard of on the Atlantic coast, had torn through Bangor, killing over one hundred citizens within minutes. Immediately John had endured the two day drive northeast, hopeful that the yellow-eyed sonofabitch would be in town. For one of its citizens, a young couple from just across the border in New Brunswick, had a child, a young girl born almost exactly six month earlier. It had been difficult to trace the couple, the child having been born in Canada, but after weeks of extensive research, the hunter had been able to successfully track down April Donahue and her parents: Alex, an American born freelance writer and his French Canadian wife, Emilie LeBlanc-Donahue. The couple lived in a small, rented duplex in a quiet suburban neighbourhood, and were happy despite their limited income. John had felt a pang of jealously upon reading the young family's profile, immediately followed by grim determination. He had to prevent this young family from enduring the same fate his had all those years ago.

It was now sunset on the evening of little April's six month birthday. The couple, having made a big deal of the baby's milestone, had taken the child to the park, followed by a visit to the child's paternal grandparents. Hopefully enough time for John to come up with a game plan on how to gank the sonofabitch who'd killed Mary. He'd gained entry into the home earlier, under the guise of an employee of the rental company inspecting the property for maintenance issues, scouting the place for the child's nursery and potential exits in case things got a little out of hand.

The buzzing of his phone snapped John back into attention. Somewhat irritated at the interruption, he answered the device, a little wary of the unfamiliar number on the caller ID. It took only a minute to clue in at the sound of the familiar voice on the other end, one that lately sounded so tired, young, and very frightened.

"Sam, what's wrong?" A twinge of fear overcame John as he remembered Sam's promise to call if anything were to... John swallowed his anxiety, forcing himself to keep his voice stern and authoritative. The last thing he needed was for his son to think him weak in a time of crisis.

"Where are you, Dad?"

"Answer my question, Samuel."

"Not before you answer mine."

So the kid hadn't lost some of his attitude. Sighing, John leaned back against the seat of his pick-up. "I'm in Maine. I'm on the ass of the thing that killed your mother. My gut is saying he's gonna go after another family tonight. Same MO, kid's six month birthday thing. Now answer mine. What's wrong? Is Dean ok?"

Sam sighed, suddenly in no mood to talk. His father was so close to killing the demon who'd killed his mom. There was no way he'd drop that and head to California, despite the circumstances. But he still needed to tell him. It was what he had been arguing for all along, after all. Dean wasn't in immediate danger as of yet, but he had been hospitalized for about a week now, and the signs of liver failure were increasing: jaundice of the skin, an increased abdominal girth, confusion and tiredness. Sam had read that in certain cases, the patient could fall into a coma. Sam had been horrified to hear that his older brother may fall asleep and never wake up...

Which was why he needed his father to be there. Dean had always obeyed John Winchester's orders, no matter how extreme. If his father were to command his brother to pull through... A ridiculous concept, he knew, but maybe, just maybe, his stubborn big brother just might do it.

"Sam! Answer me when I talk to you!" In a voice stern, and yet full of concern. Willing himself to come back to the present, Sam drew a shaky breath.

"Dean's in the hospital," he began. The young man rubbed the back of his head tiredly, sitting upright in the uncomfortable hospital chair where he had been keeping sentry on his brother for days. "The chemo hasn't been working and his liver's failing. He's next in line for a liver, but god knows when he might be able to get one..." The young man blinked back tears, swallowing the lump forming from beneath his throat. "I'm, uh,well..."

"How long since he was hospitalized, son?" Comforted with a question he could answer, Sam cleared his throat, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "About a week, sir. The doctors wanted to keep him for observation in case he..." _Took a turn for the worse? God, how could he even be having this conversation with their father? The man who was hardly around growing up? The man who had claimed he had tried his best when clearly the only one to have actually parented him was the man lying in that hospital bed, not three feet away?_ For a moment, Sam began to wonder if Dean had been right all along? Clearly the hesitation in his father's voice was not a positive sign. And, as if to confirm his suspicions, he heard John clear his throat.

"This case should be done by tomorrow, the day after at the latest," John Winchester told him. I really need to finish this one up. Could be my only chance in god knows when to get the demon. But..."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this." Sam felt his rage beginning to peak, rising to the surface like magma, ready to erupt. It took all his self control not to yell right there, in the hospital room where his brother lay sleeping off the latest round of drugs. "Fuck, Dean was right. I shouldn't have even bothered. That goddamned demon is more important than your _son_.Christ!"

"Sam, let me finish..."

"God, this was stupid. I should have known you didn't give a rat's ass. You told me yourself if I left shouldn't bother coming back. What made me think it would be any different with Dean?"

"Samuel Charles Winchester..."

But Sam was on a roll. The hurt, anger, pent up frustrations, all poured out in a torrent, a downpour of emotions like a summer storm. On the other end of the line, John found his anger to be rising as well. How _dare_ he accuse him of not loving his son? The impudent little... but the elder Winchester willed himself to calm. This was Sam's brother, the one who had practically raised him since infancy. And that very man, the one he had idolized, had loved like a parent, was horribly sick, possibly dying. It was no wonder he was blowing up. Hell, he was known to do that himself. So he drew a deep breath, steadying his voice and trying to cool down his own anger and frustrations.

"Sam. Please let me finish. I said I would finish the case, then head to California in a few days. From the sounds of things, he's not in immediate danger. But if I don't finish what I've started, more families could go through what we did. And I can't let that happen, ok? No one else should have to lose their mothers in fucking nursery fires, ok?"

"But Dean's condition isn't the point," Sam argued. But at least now he was somewhat calmer, having already been given a warning glance by a passing nurse out in the hallway. He'd have to chill or risk being kicked out. Not an option. "I know he's relatively stable now. But, Jesus, Dad, why does it have to be others first? Why can't we be your priority for once? Your fucking _family?_ And before you go on your tangent, I get it. You don't want to see what happened to Mom happen to someone else. I get it. She was your wife, and if anything like that were to ever happen to Jess..." Sam shuddered, pushed the horrifying thought aside. "But he's your son. He needs you, too." Sam sighed, looked once more at the sleeping man, his face that sickly shade of yellow caused by the jaundice. "Just promise me you'll hurry, ok?" And without waiting for a reply, he disconnected the call.

XXX

John Winchester listened to the sound of the dial tone, for the first time stunned into silence. For several minutes, he stared ahead, as the first street lights blinked on in the approaching dusk. Within three to four hours, the demon would be here, in that little bedroom in the second floor. Another mother would be burned, another baby cursed to follow the same fate he suspected his own son might face. For Sam didn't know what John had only recently discovered: that his youngest was among one of the demon's "special children" in his army, a fate which the little girl who lived in that little house may be forced to accept in a matter of hours. Sam didn't know that it wasn't only Dean's well being he was afraid for, that if his suspicions regarding his boys fate were true, that one day he, too, might have to die. Conflicted, John tossed the phone on the seat beside him, stared once more at the home across just a little ways down the street from where he was parked. It was supposed to be simple, but that one phone call had just provided with him on a silver platter one of the most difficult decisions of his life. He had waited years for this moment, to finally face the monster who had murdered his wife, cursed his children. "Mary, I don't know what to do," he whispered, blinking back the moisture forming beneath his closed lids. "Dean could be dying. And the demon who killed you, who went after our boy, he's gonna ruin another family if I leave..."

John paused, and for one irrational moment, he believed he had caught the briefest of hints of his late wife's favourite perfume. Floral, with just a hint of spice. Mary had always worn it on special occasions: their wedding day, anniversaries: she'd even dabbed on a little the first night after bringing newborn Dean home from the hospital. He remembered the last time she had ever worn it. It had been a few weeks before the fire, when the two had finally earned a much needed date night. The kindly neighbour across the street had watched the boys while they had enjoyed a romantic dinner at Mary's favourite restaurant. The night had been perfect. It had been the last time the pair had been intimate together, making love in the backseat of the Impala like love struck teenagers just past the Lawrence city limits.

"Mary, help me," he whispered. For several minutes, he sat in the cab of the truck, weeping like he had never done before, at least not in front of his boys. When at last the tears had subsided, he felt a peace he had not had in years, not since before that fateful night in November of 1983.

John Winchester knew what he had to do.


	16. Chapter 16

**Sixteen**

**Early Morning Fire Tears Through Bangor Home**

_**One Dead, While Rest of Family Escapes Unharmed; Fire Believed to have Started in Nursery**_

_An early morning blaze at a duplex on Record Street in Bangor is believed to have started in the nursery. One person was killed in the blaze, which began in the early morning hours of August 23__rd__. The names of the family are being withheld until the victim's family has been notified. No cause has been identified, but fire marshals believe that the fire was caused by an electrical shortage._

John had barely glanced at the headline, and yet almost immediately what little he had managed to eat after leaving Bangor was threatening to come up. Emilie Donahue was dead; no doubt pinned to the ceiling, just as Mary had been. The grizzled hunter closed his eyes, trying to ease the pounding in his skull; but instead of relief, he only saw the baby's mother, eyes wide in terror, limbs splayed unnaturally on the ceiling as the gash in her abdomen slowly leaked her blood into the infant's tiny mouth. He could actually smell the horrible stench of burned flesh and thick smoke as the young woman's body burst into flame, its greedy tendrils reaching to all corners of the tiny room. The only good thing about the whole scenario (if you could call anything associated with the Yellow-Eyed Demon's fucked up plan good) was that the baby had been startled into wails and Alex Donahue had arrived in time to save his daughter.

_Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back. Now, Dean, go!_

The memories of that fateful night overwhelmed John, and he grasped the nearby wall for support. He could have stopped it. He was right fucking _there! _He had the Colt, he could have easily killed the bastard and spared the Donahues the same fate his family had endured. But he had chosen the three hour head start to California instead. To be near the boy who was slowly dying...

_Do you think Sammy's ready to toss around a football? No, Daddy!_

The childish giggles he had heard that night, the last time his son had ever really been that carefree and truly happy, echoed through his brain, the constant reminder that once upon a time, the Winchesters had been a normal family. One who had picnics in the park and day trips to the zoo; who celebrated birthdays, Christmases, lazy Sunday dinners complete with the full course roast beef and apple pie for dessert, followed by an afternoon of NFL. And because of him, another family would be denied that. Alex Donahue may follow in John's footsteps and become a hunter; the death of a loved one was the most common trigger. Little April would grow up without a mom. God, she'd be just like Sam, cursed with never being able to know the gentle caress of a loving mother, to hear her soothing voice as she sang lullabies.

_Hey, Jude. Don't make it bad..._

"Fuck!" John kicked at the glass, the sound of it shattering breaking the stillness of the night. For a moment, he just stood there, breathing deeply as he tried to steady the trembling of his hands. He had made the wrong decision. From what Sam had hinted, Dean was still in stable condition.

"_He's beautiful, isn't he? Our baby boy. See, John, he recognizes you already! Look, Dean! That's your Daddy!"_

"_Daddy, why is Mommy's tummy so big?"_

"_Well, Dean, there's a baby in Mommy's tummy. You're going to have a baby brother or sister. That makes you a big brother."_

"_Look, Dean, there's somebody who really wants to meet you. Say hello to your baby brother."_

And John began to tremble, memories of his son's early years overwhelming him. Of Dean learning how to ride a bike; his first day of school. Moments he had barely had time to think of due to hunting. He couldn't even remember what year his boy had lost his first tooth. God, the kid hadn't even had a visit from the Tooth Fairy. Dean had always ensured that Sam had had such firsts; he had been more of a parent to his youngest than John had ever had. Closing his eyes, John pulled out his cell, dialled Sam's number.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end sounded exhausted. No doubt the kid had slept very little since his brother had been hospitalized.

"Hey, Sammy."

"Dad?"

"Yeah, it's me. Just wanted to let you know I'm on the way. Just stopped for gas. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"But what about the demon?"

"Yeah, something came up." John sighed, swallowing the lump forming from beneath his throat.

"How's the family?"

"Look, son, I'll..."

"They didn't make it, huh?"

John rubbed his eyes tiredly. "No, Sam. They didn't. Now I have to go. Long drive ahead. Tell Dean I'm on the way, ok?"

"Yeah, sure. Bye, Dad."

John snapped the phone shut, stuffing the device in his back pocket. For a moment, he just sat there, leaning back against the seat, eyes closed. His stomach churned again; he had condemned a young woman to die not six hours ago. Emilie Donahue's blood was on his hands. But his boy needed him. Needed him to be the father he had never truly been. With a sigh, he gunned the engine and guided the pickup to the interstate.

XXX

Sam stared at the phone for several minutes in pure disbelief. His father had called. Said he was on his way. Had abandoned the hunt for the first time in his life. For a moment, he felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of the family he had been trying to protect. Judging from what his father had been telling him, the demon had paid them a visit that night. What right had he to keep his father from doing his job? Indirectly, he had contributed to their fate by keeping his dad from helping him. But one glance at the man sleeping beside him was enough of a reminder. Dean was deteriorating by the minute, it seemed; had been asleep for nearly twenty-four hours, with only a few minutes of consciousness before slipping under again. And when he was awake, the pain was overwhelming. High on painkillers, Dean hardly recognized his younger brother; gone were the terrible jokes of only four days earlier, instead replaced by fever and nausea. He was losing him. His big brother, his hero, was slipping away before his very eyes.

But at least his father might be there when he went.

Sam sighed, leaned forward and gently squeezed his brother's hand. "Hey, Dean," he began softly, blinking away the tears threatening to spill. "Dad just called. Yeah, I know. Our dad. He left a case just to be here. Guy must feel like shit, since it had something to do with what killed Mom. So yeah, for him to drop that and haul ass here... guess you mean something to the guy after all." The tears were falling freely now, and Sam wiped them away with a trembling hand. "He's still in New England, so it'll be a while before he gets here. Figures the damn thing would be on the other side of the freaking country when you pull this stunt, huh, big brother?"

For a moment, Sam paused, for the first time, the silence almost awkward. Most of the time, they were comfortable; Sam studying in one corner while Dean cleaned the guns, or sharing greasy take-out (much to Sam's disgust, most of the time) with the ball game on low. There was no need for words most of the time. Silent communication was a vital part of hunting, after all, and both brothers had learned to read each other without so much as a word. But along with this came the ability to read each other's thoughts with just a simple facial expression. Playful glances; the token "I'm ok, you?" And the ones which clearly said "I love you, man" without violating Dean's stupid "no chick flick moments" rule.

But now, the silence was heavy, unbearable. Like a weight pulling him under, enveloping him until he couldn't breathe. For a moment, Sam almost got up and left, unable to see his brother so helpless and weak. But he knew he couldn't. What if something were to happen to him in the minutes he was gone? He would never forgive himself if...

_No. Stop talking like he's already fucking dead. He's Dean Winchester, damn it. Nothing can take him down. Not even goddamn cancer._

"Sam, honey, are you ok?"

Jess. She had said she'd be here. Wiping his eyes, Sam turned, smiled faintly at the young woman, still wearing her Denny's uniform. She looked just as exhausted as he, eyes heavy with lack of sleep and hair dishevelled from being pinned up all day. But she still was beautiful as ever as she smiled sadly at him. She leaned in for a kiss, and Sam gratefully accepted the cup of coffee she handed him. "Yeah, I guess, all things considered. My dad called. He's on his way here."

"Well, that's good news, Sam. See, I told you he'd come around."

"Yeah..." Sam sighed, setting the untouched coffee on the table beside him. "I hate him like this, Jess. I can't remember the last time I saw Dean this helpless. It's just... _wrong."_

"I know, baby," Jessica soothed, gently running her fingers through her boyfriend's tangled hair. "I know this is hard for you." She held on to him for a few moments, Sam gratefully allowing her to embrace him. "I know you're not gonna want to hear this, but you should go home. Get some sleep, have a shower. Eat something other than crappy hospital food."

"No, I can't leave him. He' my brother."

"I know, Sam, believe me, I do. But I don't think Dean would want you to be doing this. He'd want you to be rested, to get something to eat..."

"You're right. He would. And he'd be the first person to tell someone to fuck off the minute they ask him to leave if things were the other way around." Sam flinched at the pained look on Jessica's face. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"Don't be." Jess gave her boyfriend a soft kiss on the crown of his head and reached for her purse. "I'll be here first thing in the morning. I love you."

"Love you too." Sam watched as the woman of his dreams left, leaving him alone with his sick, probably dying brother. He sighed, looked down at the hand he had not realized he had still been holding. "Damn it, Dean," he muttered sadly. "You always were one to either go big or go home." Once more those damn tears were threatening to fall, and Sam blinked them away. The hallway was quiet, save for the steady beep of the machines helping to keep his brother alive, to fight the cancer threatening to overtake him. It was stupid, really. Of all the things to bring down Dean Winchester, it had to be fucking cancer. "Look man, this isn't over. You still have to chew me out for being such a girl. You have to be there when I get married. Bought the ring before you showed up but can't really propose when my brother is sick with cancer, huh? Just like you to totally ruin the moment for me." God, since when did he become such a cry baby? "Dean, you gotta keep fighting, ok? I need you to be best man at my wedding. My kids need their uncle Dean to teach them how to fix cars and toss a football. So don't you _dare_ even think about going now, got that? Not when I finally just got my brother back..."

By now he couldn't stop the tears from flowing. Not even caring how much he was initiating the sappiest of chick flick moments. Sam Winchester cried, not like he had since he was a child. Only this time there was no Dean to hold him close and wipe away the tears. No Dean to tell him everything was ok, and not to cry anymore. He cried until at last he fell into an exhausted slumber, haunted by dreams of a world without his brother.


	17. Chapter 17 - repost of 16 (chap deleted)

**A/N: I don't own **_**Supernatural.**_** All rights reserved.**

**Sixteen**

**Early Morning Fire Tears Through Bangor Home**

_**One Dead, While Rest of Family Escapes Unharmed; Fire Believed to have Started in Nursery**_

_An early morning blaze at a duplex on Record Street in Bangor is believed to have started in the nursery. One person was killed in the blaze, which began in the early morning hours of August 23__rd__. The names of the family are being withheld until the victim's family has been notified. No cause has been identified, but fire marshals believe that the fire was caused by an electrical shortage._

John had barely glanced at the headline, and yet almost immediately what little he had managed to eat after leaving Bangor was threatening to come up. Emilie Donahue was dead; no doubt pinned to the ceiling, just as Mary had been. The grizzled hunter closed his eyes, trying to ease the pounding in his skull; but instead of relief, he only saw the baby's mother, eyes wide in terror, limbs splayed unnaturally on the ceiling as the gash in her abdomen slowly leaked her blood into the infant's tiny mouth. He could actually smell the horrible stench of burned flesh and thick smoke as the young woman's body burst into flame, its greedy tendrils reaching to all corners of the tiny room. The only good thing about the whole scenario (if you could call anything associated with the Yellow-Eyed Demon's fucked up plan good) was that the baby had been startled into wails and Alex Donahue had arrived in time to save his daughter.

_Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back. Now, Dean, go!_

The memories of that fateful night overwhelmed John, and he grasped the nearby wall for support. He could have stopped it. He was right fucking _there! _He had the Colt, he could have easily killed the bastard and spared the Donahues the same fate his family had endured. But he had chosen the three hour head start to California instead. To be near the boy who was slowly dying...

_Do you think Sammy's ready to toss around a football? No, Daddy!_

The childish giggles he had heard that night, the last time his son had ever really been that carefree and truly happy, echoed through his brain, the constant reminder that once upon a time, the Winchesters had been a normal family. One who had picnics in the park and day trips to the zoo; who celebrated birthdays, Christmases, lazy Sunday dinners complete with the full course roast beef and apple pie for dessert, followed by an afternoon of NFL. And because of him, another family would be denied that. Alex Donahue may follow in John's footsteps and become a hunter; the death of a loved one was the most common trigger. Little April would grow up without a mom. God, she'd be just like Sam, cursed with never being able to know the gentle caress of a loving mother, to hear her soothing voice as she sang lullabies.

_Hey, Jude. Don't make it bad..._

"Fuck!" John kicked at the glass, the sound of it shattering breaking the stillness of the night. For a moment, he just stood there, breathing deeply as he tried to steady the trembling of his hands. He had made the wrong decision. From what Sam had hinted, Dean was still in stable condition.

"_He's beautiful, isn't he? Our baby boy. See, John, he recognizes you already! Look, Dean! That's your Daddy!"_

"_Daddy, why is Mommy's tummy so big?"_

"_Well, Dean, there's a baby in Mommy's tummy. You're going to have a baby brother or sister. That makes you a big brother."_

"_Look, Dean, there's somebody who really wants to meet you. Say hello to your baby brother."_

And John began to tremble, memories of his son's early years overwhelming him. Of Dean learning how to ride a bike; his first day of school. Moments he had barely had time to think of due to hunting. He couldn't even remember what year his boy had lost his first tooth. God, the kid hadn't even had a visit from the Tooth Fairy. Dean had always ensured that Sam had had such firsts; he had been more of a parent to his youngest than John had ever had. Closing his eyes, John pulled out his cell, dialled Sam's number.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end sounded exhausted. No doubt the kid had slept very little since his brother had been hospitalized.

"Hey, Sammy."

"Dad?"

"Yeah, it's me. Just wanted to let you know I'm on the way. Just stopped for gas. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"But what about the demon?"

"Yeah, something came up." John sighed, swallowing the lump forming from beneath his throat.

"How's the family?"

"Look, son, I'll..."

"They didn't make it, huh?"

John rubbed his eyes tiredly. "No, Sam. They didn't. Now I have to go. Long drive ahead. Tell Dean I'm on the way, ok?"

"Yeah, sure. Bye, Dad."

John snapped the phone shut, stuffing the device in his back pocket. For a moment, he just sat there, leaning back against the seat, eyes closed. His stomach churned again; he had condemned a young woman to die not six hours ago. Emilie Donahue's blood was on his hands. But his boy needed him. Needed him to be the father he had never truly been. With a sigh, he gunned the engine and guided the pickup to the interstate.

XXX

Sam stared at the phone for several minutes in pure disbelief. His father had called. Said he was on his way. Had abandoned the hunt for the first time in his life. For a moment, he felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of the family he had been trying to protect. Judging from what his father had been telling him, the demon had paid them a visit that night. What right had he to keep his father from doing his job? Indirectly, he had contributed to their fate by keeping his dad from helping him. But one glance at the man sleeping beside him was enough of a reminder. Dean was deteriorating by the minute, it seemed; had been asleep for nearly twenty-four hours, with only a few minutes of consciousness before slipping under again. And when he was awake, the pain was overwhelming. High on painkillers, Dean hardly recognized his younger brother; gone were the terrible jokes of only four days earlier, instead replaced by fever and nausea. He was losing him. His big brother, his hero, was slipping away before his very eyes.

But at least his father might be there when he went.

Sam sighed, leaned forward and gently squeezed his brother's hand. "Hey, Dean," he began softly, blinking away the tears threatening to spill. "Dad just called. Yeah, I know. Our dad. He left a case just to be here. Guy must feel like shit, since it had something to do with what killed Mom. So yeah, for him to drop that and haul ass here... guess you mean something to the guy after all." The tears were falling freely now, and Sam wiped them away with a trembling hand. "He's still in New England, so it'll be a while before he gets here. Figures the damn thing would be on the other side of the freaking country when you pull this stunt, huh, big brother?"

For a moment, Sam paused, for the first time, the silence almost awkward. Most of the time, they were comfortable; Sam studying in one corner while Dean cleaned the guns, or sharing greasy take-out (much to Sam's disgust, most of the time) with the ball game on low. There was no need for words most of the time. Silent communication was a vital part of hunting, after all, and both brothers had learned to read each other without so much as a word. But along with this came the ability to read each other's thoughts with just a simple facial expression. Playful glances; the token "I'm ok, you?" And the ones which clearly said "I love you, man" without violating Dean's stupid "no chick flick moments" rule.

But now, the silence was heavy, unbearable. Like a weight pulling him under, enveloping him until he couldn't breathe. For a moment, Sam almost got up and left, unable to see his brother so helpless and weak. But he knew he couldn't. What if something were to happen to him in the minutes he was gone? He would never forgive himself if...

_No. Stop talking like he's already fucking dead. He's Dean Winchester, damn it. Nothing can take him down. Not even goddamn cancer._

"Sam, honey, are you ok?"

Jess. She had said she'd be here. Wiping his eyes, Sam turned, smiled faintly at the young woman, still wearing her Denny's uniform. She looked just as exhausted as he, eyes heavy with lack of sleep and hair dishevelled from being pinned up all day. But she still was beautiful as ever as she smiled sadly at him. She leaned in for a kiss, and Sam gratefully accepted the cup of coffee she handed him. "Yeah, I guess, all things considered. My dad called. He's on his way here."

"Well, that's good news, Sam. See, I told you he'd come around."

"Yeah..." Sam sighed, setting the untouched coffee on the table beside him. "I hate him like this, Jess. I can't remember the last time I saw Dean this helpless. It's just... _wrong."_

"I know, baby," Jessica soothed, gently running her fingers through her boyfriend's tangled hair. "I know this is hard for you." She held on to him for a few moments, Sam gratefully allowing her to embrace him. "I know you're not gonna want to hear this, but you should go home. Get some sleep, have a shower. Eat something other than crappy hospital food."

"No, I can't leave him. He' my brother."

"I know, Sam, believe me, I do. But I don't think Dean would want you to be doing this. He'd want you to be rested, to get something to eat..."

"You're right. He would. And he'd be the first person to tell someone to fuck off the minute they ask him to leave if things were the other way around." Sam flinched at the pained look on Jessica's face. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"Don't be." Jess gave her boyfriend a soft kiss on the crown of his head and reached for her purse. "I'll be here first thing in the morning. I love you."

"Love you too." Sam watched as the woman of his dreams left, leaving him alone with his sick, probably dying brother. He sighed, looked down at the hand he had not realized he had still been holding. "Damn it, Dean," he muttered sadly. "You always were one to either go big or go home." Once more those damn tears were threatening to fall, and Sam blinked them away. The hallway was quiet, save for the steady beep of the machines helping to keep his brother alive, to fight the cancer threatening to overtake him. It was stupid, really. Of all the things to bring down Dean Winchester, it had to be fucking cancer. "Look man, this isn't over. You still have to chew me out for being such a girl. You have to be there when I get married. Bought the ring before you showed up but can't really propose when my brother is sick with cancer, huh? Just like you to totally ruin the moment for me." God, since when did he become such a cry baby? "Dean, you gotta keep fighting, ok? I need you to be best man at my wedding. My kids need their uncle Dean to teach them how to fix cars and toss a football. So don't you _dare_ even think about going now, got that? Not when I finally just got my brother back..."

By now he couldn't stop the tears from flowing. Not even caring how much he was initiating the sappiest of chick flick moments. Sam Winchester cried, not like he had since he was a child. Only this time there was no Dean to hold him close and wipe away the tears. No Dean to tell him everything was ok, and not to cry anymore. He cried until at last he fell into an exhausted slumber, haunted by dreams of a world without his brother.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: First of all, I am so sorry for the lateness. I have been super busy at work and have just finished a ten day stretch. Needless to say, after being at work for 3 am I have been too tired to really do much other than crash. Lol. But I'm back to a regular work schedule so I should be a lot more prompt with the updates. Second, thank you so much to all of you who have reviewed chapters, those who have added to favorites lists, and just read. To my regulars (you know who you are) your support has been incredible. Again, I apologize for the lateness and I hope you enjoy!**

**Seventeen**

Dean was happy.

Not to say that Dean Winchester had never had any good moments in his relatively young life. Inheriting the Impala at eighteen had definitely been a highlight for the young man. Watching Sam as he crossed the auditorium's stage for his high school graduation had been a happy day for Dean as well; perhaps he had been more proud than the freakishly tall, incredibly awkward teenager who accepted his diploma, top of his class. Drinking beer under the stars with that same astronomically tall teen (and since when had the kid suddenly towered over him in height?), amazing sex with a gorgeous woman, a good bacon double cheeseburger. All of these made Dean Winchester content.

But nothing ever made him _truly _happy. Which is why it was incredibly weird for him to be feeling that way now. For no logical explanation whatsoever. Just as it was unsettling for him to be standing on the front walk of a very familiar looking home in Lawrence. The one with that dying tree his father had been meaning to call about to have cut; the one with the well manicured front lawns, complete with the garden gnome and its pointed, fire engine red cap; the one with the handmade, wooden jungle gym in the back yard Dean remembered playing on and the screened in porch where Dad would fire up the barbeque and the picnic table where he and his parents would indulge on the homemade fried chicken his mother would make every year for Forth of July.

And it was unbelievable for him to ring the doorbell and to have it answered by his mother. To be face to face with Mary Winchester, as beautiful as ever, her wavy hair like spun gold and her green eyes (the very shade he had inherited) filled with love at the sight of her firstborn. "Hi, sweetie," she smiled warmly, gently cupping his face in her hand, soft and sweetly scented from lemon dish soap. "You're just in time, Dean. I've got a roast in the oven for dinner and a nice apple pie fresh from the oven that's too nice to waste."

"Mom?" Dean choked. Blinking back tears, he stared at the woman before him, dressed in jeans and a faded, grey sweatshirt, soft curls cascading gently on her shoulders. Even dressed casually and with no makeup, Mary was as beautiful as he had remembered. He wanted to remember every detail; the exact shade of her eyes, the gentle curve of her smile, the smell of her perfume she wore on special occasions; even the dimple just above her right, upper lip. And perhaps what was even more unusual was the fact that his mother seemed unfazed by her son's seemingly odd behaviour. "You look tired, honey," she said in a matter-of-fact tone, "come on in and get washed up for dinner. Sam and Jess should be here soon, and your father is off work in fifteen. Hope you're hungry."

"Um, yeah.". _What the hell is going on here? Mom's alive? Sam and Jessica are in Kansas? _As if in a trance, Dean followed his mother into the home he hadn't seen since preschool, crossing the thresh hold into a living room he some how remembered playing in as a kid, pushing his little red fire truck along the hardwood with delight. From in the kitchen, the delicious aromas of roast beef, homemade macaroni and cheese, and, of course, his mom's famous apple pie, made his mouth water. He was happy, he was safe... he was _home. _And at that moment, Dean didn't care that he had no clue how this was even possible, how his mother should be dead, and Dad should be hunting her killer, and Sam should be in California earning a fancy law degree and about to marry the girl of his dreams. He accepted the cold beer with a smile and sat down and watched the Chiefs game while dinner cooked. He greeted his father with a warm hug when he came home from work later, and congratulated Sam when Jessica showed off her brand new engagement ring.

_Come on, man, you gotta hang in there. Dad's on his way. I mean, he actually had a chance to get the thing that killed Mom and he's on his way here. So you can't skip out on us, Dean..._

What the hell? It was Sammy's voice, plain as day, but the kid was sitting across from him, grinning like a kid at Christmas while Jess rattled on about wedding details. So how could he possibly be hearing him now? In his head? Talking about, what? Dying or something? No. This didn't make sense.

_Dean, please. You're my big brother and I need you, ok? Fuck, I'm acting like a girl and you're not doing a damn thing. Call me out on it, call me Samantha, just... goddamn it Dean, you have to wake up._

"Sammy..."

"What?" Sam (or Not-Sam? Because now Dean wasn't even sure _what_ was real at the moment) stared at him, the smile replaced by an anxious frown. "What's up, man? You ok?" Dean stared at him, at his family sitting around the table, and suddenly was overcome with foreboding, a sense of dread he had not felt since the days leading up to Stanford. He had known something was up with Sam, but had not been able to point a finger at it. The body language, the sullenness, the looks of excitement mixed with guilt, grief, and determination, all had been a huge warning sign that Dean had chosen to ignore. And now he was getting those signs again, flashing before him like a beacon. But of what, he just couldn't grasp. All he knew was that he could hear his brother's voice, the overwhelming grief. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. And when he opened them, there was nothing but darkness.

XXX

"Dean, please. You're my big brother and I need you, ok? Fuck, I'm acting like a girl and you're not doing a damn thing. Call me out on it, call me Samantha, just... goddamn it Dean, you have to wake up."

Sam paused, waiting almost expectantly for his brother to respond. For days, Dean had been drifting in and out of consciousness, providing the young man with at least a little hope that Dean may recover. But in the night, he had slipped into a coma. The cancer had spread to stage four, and even if a new liver were available, surgery would prove to be too much of a risk. Dean was now going to die, and there was not a goddamn thing he could do about it. He'd screamed, cried, prayed to a god he wasn't sure he even believed in. But the prognosis wasn't good, and the doctors were dodging his questions with the age old "hope for the best, prepare for the worst" line. And then, he'd called his father.

It was the hardest phone call he had ever had to make, and Sam was for once grateful that he'd gotten John's voicemail. Choking back tears, he told his father the news, shaking with the sobs he was trying so desperately to repress.

"The doctors – they say he isn't likely to make it. They're giving him... Dad, they say he might live another week... But, we know stuff, right? We'll think of something..." Sam sighed, the false hope doing little to encourage him. "Just, please hurry Dad. Bye."

Sam snapped the phone closed, held the device for a few seconds before slipping it back into his pocket. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not when he had finally gotten his brother back. "It's not fair," he whispered, looking down at his dying brother. On the bed beside him, Dean looked deathly still. Gently, Sam brushed aside his brother's sweat dampened hair from his forehead, immediately acknowledging how he would have made fun of him if only he were awake.

"Remember that time when we were kids? I was six or something like that. It was Mother's Day and I was feeling like shit because all the kids in my class got to make cards for their moms. And I didn't have a mom. You totally harassed my poor teacher, yelled at her for not doing her research and stuff. And you got a week's suspension. Dad was pissed." Sam smiled faintly at the memory, absently wiping his eyes. It was a habit he had been getting used to lately. "But when I got home, I cried because I didn't have a Mommy who loved me like the other kids. And you know what you did? You went to the library and stole that stupid book." Sam closed his eyes, as if trying to remember the words. But he knew them by heart. "Little Nut Brown Hare, who was going to bed, held on tight to Big Nut Brown Hare's very long ears. He wanted to be sure that Big Nut Brown Hare was listening. 'Guess how much I love you,' he said."

And memories of that night flashed before him, of Dean reading him the story that very night, capturing the cadence and the lilt of the voices perfectly. His brother had always been fantastic at reading aloud, somehow managing to bring the stories alive with just the slightest change of voice. The soft, sweet voice of Little Nut Brown Hare, and the lower, yet still gentle voices of Big Nut Brown Hare. Sam had immediately noticed the connection, at once considering the rabbits not as a father/son or mother/connection, but as one of two brothers, just like he and Dean. Dean, the one who only knew how to say I love you through a kids book...

"To the moon and back, Dean," he muttered softly.

XXX

And fifty miles away, sitting in the cab of his pick-up, John Winchester listened to the message he had been dreading. Dean was now dying. It wasn't a matter of if, but when. And there was nothing he could do. He replayed the message over and over, as if willing it to disappear. And each time he heard the catch in his son's voice, the hunter had to fight to keep from losing his composure. A mix of intense grief and rage overwhelmed him, and he pounded his fist against the steering wheel, the horn blaring harshly into the night. Startled, a stray cat let out a shriek and scampered into the darkness.

He had to do something. Sam had mentioned faith healers, spells, anything supernatural which could possibly defy his son's death sentence. The odds were unlikely; usually anything of that sort was meant to be for reversal, not to heal illness brought on by natural causes. But that didn't mean he wasn't about to try. Reaching for his duffle, John pulled out his worn journal, flipped through the pages briefly before gently closing its cover. For a few minutes he sat there, taking small comfort in the feel of the leather between his fingertips. It was as if there was a sense of strength, of sheer power, hidden within the yellowed pages of that diary. After a few minutes, he gently placed the journal on the passenger seat, and gunned the truck's engine.

He had to see his son.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Thank you all so much for the support of my last chapter, despite the long delay. To make up for it, here's another one! Getting to the end of this one! I really hope you enjoy it! Thank you to all who have taken the time to read, review, follow, or add this to your favorites list. Enjoy!**

**Eighteen**

John Winchester had always hated hospitals: the unsettling smell of disinfectant, eerily combining with that of sickness and death; the constant noise of endlessly beeping and whirring machines, the shuffle of rubber soles racing across linoleum; the fear that his latest fraudulent insurance card would be bounced back from the system and he'd have to bust himself, or the boys, out. But the worst, what absolutely chilled him to the core, were the cries of the families. The gentle sobs, the intense wails of grief, the simple moans. All were signs that a loved one was stepping on the thresh hold of death.

John had seen death many times. Mostly in the faces of the monsters he had killed, but in the victims as well, should he have failed to save them. He'd seen it in Mary's eyes, even before she had actually breathed her last. And now, though the machines continued to keep him alive, he was seeing that very face in that of his son. Dean looked almost peaceful, and would have seemed to be asleep, if not for the ventilator breathing for him, and the unnatural stillness of his body. John sighed as he sat by his son's bed, leafing for what seemed like the hundredth time through his journal for something, anything, to save his boy. He was alone, having somehow convinced Sam to leave to get some rest. Of course, he knew damn well that he wasn't actually sleeping in a nearby motel, but likely sitting in the cafeteria, trying to force down some of that horrible hospital food. Knowing his stubborn younger son, Sam would not rest until Dean was awake, or God forbid, dead. Because it would be exactly what he would do.

The journal contained nothing useful. Not that John had expected as much; he had had it memorized from the inside out, the contents within it as familiar to the grizzled hunter as the warmth of a glass of Johnny Walker Blue Label burning in his belly, or the grip of his shotgun in his steady hands. Every word, ever diagram, he knew perfectly. Just as he knew that there was nothing in the journal to save his son. Feeling a heavy despair, John closed the book, stared at the faded tan leather for a few moments before carefully stowing it back in his duffel. There weren't many options left. He, like Sam, had called every hunter on his contacts list, even those new to the game and with little knowledge. Bobby had been up for days on end searching for something, anything, to save his boy. As much as he resented John Winchester, had last seen him on the wrong end of the shotgun _he_ had been pointing at _him,_ he loved those kids as his own. It had taken a lot for John to pick up the phone and call the old man, who had been actually rather surprised that he had made contact with him. As if he didn't love his own sons. At first, the old resentments of earlier years had almost flared up, and it had taken both men all they had not to go at it, right there and then. But common sense had fortunately prevailed on both accounts, and John had hung up feeling that at least his boy might have a chance.

That had been two days earlier. John had hardly left his son's bedside since then, leaving only to give Sam time to sit with his brother. Bobby hadn't called back yet, and the hunter tried to take this as a positive sign. The age old saying "no news is good news" ran through his mind, even though John knew damn well that good news was rare for those in the hunting community, especially if your name was Winchester. There really was only one option left, an idea he had been toying with before when either of his boys had been hurt. The thought of making a deal with one of those creatures was far from appealing, but Dean's prognosis wasn't good; his doctor had already taken him and Sam aside, preparing them to say goodbye. This wasn't going to happen. Not if he could help it. The boys would be pissed, and Dean would likely be broken should he learn the truth. A small price to pay as long as Dean survived; as long as his boy lived.

John sighed, looking down at the young man lying on the bed beside him. He looked so young, innocent. Not the vibrant young man he had grown to be. The one who hunted with such grace, enthusiasm and passion; who loved and cared for his younger brother with the tenderness of a mother. Whose jade eyes were always so full of life instead of the listless, dull green they had been as of late. Feeling another lump forming in his throat, John gently patted his son's shoulder, trying to ignore the yellow of the jaundiced skin. "I'm so sorry, Dean," he whispered, blinking back the moisture from beneath his eyes. "I was never there for you growing up. I put way too much on your shoulders at such a young age. You were still a kid, for Christssake. You should've been playing softball and riding bikes. Not taking care of an infant. I know you're gonna be pissed if you find out about this, but this is my way of setting things right. It's my turn to take care of you for a change."

For a moment, John sat there, unable to get up. He knew he had a job to do, probably one of the most important ones of his life. It hurt like hell that he wouldn't be able to hunt with his boys, to watch them become the fine young men he had always known they were. To not see Sammy graduate from Stanford. It had pissed him off to no end seeing him go, but he was damn proud of that kid. And Jessica was such a wonderful young woman. She kind of reminded him of Mary, both in physical appearance as well as her feisty personality. And then there was the Yellow Eyed Demon. Though Sam and Dean were both capable of hunting the demon, to be giving up on the job himself was quite a sacrifice. But it was one he was willing to make. For Dean; and for Sam. Because John Winchester knew damn well that his brother's death would more than likely be the death of his youngest, literally or otherwise. And there was no way he was letting either of his boys down. Not this time.

"All right you sonofabitch," he muttered, slowly rising from his seat. "You win."

XXX

"Well, well. If it isn't Johnny Winchester. Fancy meeting you here, sugar."

John glared at the woman standing before him in the centre of the crossroads. She was beautiful, her sleek, red hair shimmering in the moonlight. Her grey eyes flashed inky black for a moment, and the demon grinned, her pearly white teeth contrasting with her crimson lipstick. "I've been waiting for you for quite some time now."

"You have, huh?" John tried to remain cool, but could feel his heart hammering in his chest. The demon slowly walked toward him, the heel of its vessel's stilettos crunching against the gravel. "Oh, definitely." She leaned closer, and John could smell the demon's perfume, the very scent Mary used to wear. Sensing this, the demon chuckled. "Recognize it, don't you? Your precious Mary used to wear it, I think." She ran a finger across his lips seductively, gazing into his hazel eyes with a look of both hatred and lust. "Too bad you're not here for a little fun. Girls have needs, after all."

"Shut up."

"Oooh, you really shouldn't be saying that. I have leverage and your boy looks to be on his death bed right about now."

John visibly paled, but somehow managed to retain his composure. "So you know about Dean."

"Sugar, we all know about Dean Winchester. How he's gonna kick the bucket if Daddy doesn't come and save him. Hilarious how he's dying of cancer and not from one of us. Never expected _that_ punchline."

"So you'll help him."

"Of course. I like you, John. But only on one condition."

"And what's that?" The demon smiled a trifle vindictively, as if unable to keep silent another moment. "Let's just say that you're special, John Winchester. Most folks get ten years before their deals are due. But that's too much time for you to figure something out. You're a hunter. You have instincts. Technically I should let you drop dead here and now. But because I'm such a sweetheart, I'm giving you one year. And," shushing him before he could continue, "you're to leave Azaezel alone."

"What?"

"You heard me. The one you call Yellow Eyes. If you want your precious son to live, you're to let him go. And no, your sons aren't to hunt him, either. The minute Azaezel dies, Dean dies. Clear?"

John froze. Not even his boys could hunt Yellow Eyes? He had been trying to kill that sonofabitch for years. Noticing the hesitation, the demon, leaned in closer, running her fingers through his dark hair. "So revenge is more important to you than your son? Good to know," she purred, gently kissing his neck. "You're gonna be so much fun in the pit."

"It's a deal."

The demon paused, somewhat surprised. Instinctively she drew back, staring in confusion. She really hadn't expected John Winchester to take that deal. Soon, however, composed, the vessel smiled. "Good," she said, and drew in for the kiss.

XXX

The last thing Dean remembered was laying in a crappy hospital bed, drifting in and out as Sam tried to comfort him, listening as the doctor informed him that there was nothing to be done. And now, here he was, sitting bolt upright in bed, choking and gasping for breath. Beside him, a sleeping Sam was startled into wakefulness. "Dean!" he yelled, leaping to his side and trying to soothe the frightened, gasping man. Immediately he yelled for help, and moments later the room was swarming with nurses, all surprised to see the man, whom minutes earlier had been on death's door, awake and alert. Overwhelmed by the sudden crowd, Dean scanned the room in search of his brother, and felt somewhat calmer to see Sam at his side, reassuring him that everything was ok. But he truly didn't calm down until at last the room had emptied, leaving he and Sam alone.

"I can't believe it," Sam was muttering, the doctor's words echoing through his brain. "Your cancer's gone. The liver's healthy. It's like there was nothing wrong with you." He could feel tears of gratitude welling and quickly Sam brushed them away. He was so goddamned tired of crying. "Seriously, dude, you dodged a bullet there."

"Yeah." Dean forced a smile. He was grateful that he was ok, that Sam could go on with his life and go back to school. But something didn't feel right. One just doesn't slip into a coma with cancer and wake up without it. What the problem was, he couldn't pinpoint, but there was definitely something fishy going on. As for Sam, he couldn't tell if his brother suspecting something was off or not. At the moment, the kid was just too damned relieved that he had his brother back. He was a little pissed that their dad had left, having dropped in long enough to check on Dean before heading back out. No doubt to resume his hunt for the demon. But other than that, Sam was on cloud nine. He had his brother back.

"So," Dean's voice, still hoarse from the ventilator, spoke up. "Now that I'm back to normal, looks like you'll be finishing that degree, huh?" Sam looked down at his brother, somewhat distantly. "Yeah, I guess so." For a moment, Dean felt a surge of hope, followed by guilt. Had having his brother around influenced him to go back to hunting? Had he missed him that much that he would be willing to give it up? But immediately the hunter pushed aside those thoughts. What right did he have to take away the kid's education? He'd been willing to die in order for him to save his savings for college. But now that he was healthy he had no right to hold him back any further. Dean sighed, quickly changing the subject. Talk of school could wait.

XXX

John sat in the cab of his truck, watching as Sam helped his brother into the passenger side of the Impala (much to Dean's disgust). It had been a tough decision to leave his sons behind. But he couldn't be near them. Not when he knew how they'd react to his deal. He sighed, chuckling faintly as Dean bitched about how he was perfectly capable of driving, and that Chili Peppers was not what he called "road music." But the smile faded as the Impala disappeared around a corner. This image of his sons, arguing like the boys they were at heart, would be the last time he'd ever see them alive. Sighing, John Winchester fired the engine of his pick up and headed north. Maybe he couldn't go after Azaezel but there were other supernatural pieces of shit he could gank in twelve months.

He had work to do.


End file.
